


Home

by Shaele



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaele/pseuds/Shaele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If home is where the heart is, then my home is with you."</p><p>My small, growing collection of "Drabbles"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their daily adventures always started out with a tug on his sleeve accompanied by Misaki's excited chatter, and Saruhiko really didn't want it any other way.  
> Then the hand was gone, replaced by the ghost of that smile he was so used to seeing.  
> Finally it's back, that tentative pull, that promise of another adventure ahead of the both of them.
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings:** None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this because of my habit of holding people's pinkies, so please don't judge me. ;A;  
> This was also personal experiment because I wanted to see what my version of Fushimi looked like, and basically: whoops.  
> This story isn't beta'd. ^^;

"Saruhiko!" 

School just ended and Misaki was tugging at Saruhiko’s sleeve again, silently asking for the attention Misaki knew the other would give him in a heartbeat. "Wanna go take a walk in the park? I feel like eating a crepe right now!"

Saruhiko simply hummed in reply, which was enough of an answer for the boy beside him. He liked days like these, when Misaki would drag him around aimlessly with no specific goal in mind except maybe to simply spend more time Saruhiko. 

And it always started with a tug of his sleeve (or the side of his shirt, if ever it was one of the rare times he opted to spend the day in a short-sleeved shirt).

It was like that all the time. After school, Misaki would turn and tug at his sleeve and start speaking nonsense that may or may not be important, and on their way out of the gates Misaki would tug at it again and ask to go places or do something simple like watch a movie or play video games. Saruhiko would sometimes nod or give a snide remark as a reply, but he never said no when Misaki was concerned.

The park was empty and the nearby cherry blossoms danced in the wind as they found a place to sit and eat their crepes. When they had seated themselves under one of the smaller trees, Misaki tugged at his sleeve again and began talking animatedly about their upcoming project in their art class and going on about how they were going to definitely create an awesome model of whatever it was they were going to end up making. 

"... and maybe we can add lights and stuff to make it even  _ more  _ awesome! You know how to do those kinds of things too, right Saru? Let’s make a… a… a volcano or something!" Misaki exclaimed at the end of his long speech, throwing out his free hand to the side as if to emphasize the amount of awesome the project was going to be when they were done with it. "Wouldn't that be cool?"

Saruhiko resisted smiling at the amount of attention Misaki was giving the project because really, Misaki hated school and would always just complain about anything and everything school-related but here he was, talking about a school project and doing the exact opposite of what was to be expected of him. "Hurry up and eat your crepe." Saruhiko mumbled, taking a bite of his own to emphasize the words. It wasn't like Saruhiko was in a rush to go anywhere, no; Misaki was a messy eater and Saruhiko was simply having a hard time keeping his friend clean while the chocolate drizzle continued to smear across his mouth and onto his cheeks. He pulled out the napkin he had tucked in his uniform pocket and dropped it onto Misaki’s lap, hoping his friend would get a clue.

Misaki didn’t, though, and continued eating messily while his eyes watched the cherry blossom petals excitedly. As he finished his last bite of the crepe he leaned his head on Saruhiko’s shoulder, sighing contentedly as he continued watching their surroundings.”It’s so peaceful today.” He noted.

“It’s because you’re quiet for once.” Saruhiko replied immediately, as if on instinct. He felt Misaki’ body tremble next to him, and realized he was laughing silently by his side.

“You never cease to be an ass, do you?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue as a reply, finishing off his own crepe before ballin up the wrapper and stuffing it in his pocket. The garbage bin was too far and he had a feeling Misaki wasn’t exactly ready to leave just yet.

Honestly, Saruhiko didn’t want to leave either.

“What high school are you going to?” Misaki murmured, yawning as he finished his question. Saruhiko shrugged, feeling the other boy’s head rub against his uniform.

“We don’t need to think about that for a while.” It was another year before they would need to start taking entrance exams, and he was sure he could get into  _ any _ school he wanted to get into, but it wouldn’t be any good if Misaki wasn’t there, by his side, tugging on his sleeve and making an otherwise boring day an adventure for just the two of them.

Maybe it was this very moment that Saruhiko realized Misaki was the one thing in his life that  _ shined _ , that showed him that not everything in life is as dark and dreadful as his father had lead him to believe. 

Maybe it was this very moment that Saruhiko realized Misaki was the only person that actually  _ tried _ to break through the walls he created around himself and wasn’t afraid of the ugly demons that resided inside him.

Maybe it was this very moment that Saruhiko realized Misaki was the only one he really  _ wanted  _ in life - the only person that he wanted to stay with forever.

 

* * *

 

Fushimi tugged on the sleeve of his uniform, noting the wrinkles from days of being tossed to the corner of the room with no regards to keeping it ‘crisp and clean’ like he should have been doing since he joined this hell of a government organization.

_ Saruhiko! _ A voice in the back of his mind exclaimed in pure joy as the sudden scent of overly sweet crepes filled his senses. He bit back the memory and released his sleeve, pulling on his wrist protectors and walking briskly out of his cold dorm.

It was the time of year when he should be getting dragged around the park to watch the soft, pink petals dance all around them, except that the owner of the hand that would’ve pulled him along was no longer a hand he could reach out to anymore.

It had only been a few weeks since he made an enemy out of that person, and his bunk bed seemed increasingly less inviting as the nights went by, as if it were trying to tell him that someone -  _ that one _ \- should be occupying a room and sharing a bunk with him.

Scepter 4 wasn’t a place for Yata, though - Fushimi knew that all too well, because it was the exact same for himself at HOMRA. He left to escape the choking atmosphere of that place, but in exchange he lost the only thing that had been the reason for him to live for so long. The burn on his collar began to tingle again at the memory of Yata’s annoying laughter and he reached out to scratch it lightly in an attempt to alleviate the odd feeling.

Fushimi sighed as he entered the main building of his new headquarters. He was much too early again, having woken up from yet another memory-turned-dream of that bright and cheerful smile that he eventually grew to miss. He knew there was at least one person already inside and supposedly working, but doubted it was  _ actual _ work he was doing, so he knocked on the door to his Captain’s office and walked in without waiting for the other person’s reply.

“Up early again, Fushimi?” Munakata’s eyes were instantly trained on him, relaxed and calm like the eye of a hurricane. “What brings you here at five in the morning?”

“I came for more work.” Fushimi answered albeit none-too-politely. “I finished all the work from yesterday.” His bluntness didn’t catch Munakata by surprise, though the tiny smile did more than tell Fushimi that he knew what was on his mind right now.

Munakata hummed in acknowledgement and tilted his head down to look back at the jigsaw puzzle he had barely started. It looked oddly reminiscent of  _ someplace _ he’d rather forget right now. “I’ll send the next assignments to your PDA in a moment.”

“Yes, sir.” Fushimi mumbled, still not used to the  _ yes sir _ s and  _ roger _ s he was expected to say on a daily basis. He walked out of the room without another word and headed to the room he was expected to be in for the next however-many-hours it would take to finish the next set of assignments. He unconsciously tugged at his sleeve again, and the brief image of the smile from his earlier dream flashed in his mind momentarily before getting forced into the back his mind - hopefully for the last time ever.

He’d get used to this eventually. It wasn’t like he  _ needed _ Yata in his life anymore. If Fushimi really did need to see that person, there were plenty of opportunities to do so. It wasn’t like he was  _ dead _ or anything, after all...

 

* * *

 

_ Ah, there he is. _

Fushimi grinned as Yata laid his eyes upon him, his surprised face twisting into something that held emotions akin to anger and hatred.

“Saruhiko.” Yata growled, his hands clenching into fists as he dropped his skateboard in front of him. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Cleaning up the mess you  _ hoodlums _ make, that’s  _ what _ .” Fushimi laughed as Yata’s face darkened at the word  _ hoodlum _ . “Why else you I be here,  _ Misaki _ ? You’re always creating such a big mess, I wouldn’t be surprised if they forced you to clean the bar every day just to learn to keep clean.” Fushimi knew it was a lie, though; Yata was the one that had kept their tiny apartment nice and clean while he was the one that opted to toss his clothes onto the floor and disregard them for however long it took him (or Yata, mostly Yata saw it first) to remember to put his clothes away..

Yata roared in anger and set his foot on the skateboard, his red aura pushing him forward at lightning speeds. Fushimi drew his sword, ready to deflect the attack, and grunted with the effort of pushing Yata’s entire weight off of the thin metal that was in-between him and the butt of the skateboard.

“Slow as always, eh?” Fushimi remarked, finally shoving his enemy off of his sword and into the air. Yata landed gracefully a few meters back.

“Shut up, you fucking monkey!” Yata’s hands were flaring along with his rage, and Fushimi let out a manic laugh before flashing forward and meeting Yata sword to board. “Get the fuck out of our territory!” Yata bellowed in his ear after a few unsuccessful punches.

Fushimi pushed the other’s small body away once again and fixed his glasses, which had somehow gone askew during the scuffle. “Where’s the fun in that, though?” He sneered, twirling his sword around as he shrugged. “I’ve been awfully  _ bored _ lately, and here Misaki is, ready to entertain me…”

Before Yata could bark another reply towards him, Awashima Seri’s  _ Arrow Attack _ shot right in-between the two of them and an authoritative yet exasperated “Fushimi!” rang out in the silence that followed. Fushimi turned to look towards the origin of the voice, expecting a glare and an order to put his weapon away, and was completely right, for there Awashima was, glaring hard at the both of them but not saying another word.

Fushimi sheathed his sword and clicked his tongue in annoyance, sparing one last glance at a surprised (but still angry) Yata before tugging on his sleeve and turning to walk towards the Lieutenant. She continued to berate him about picking an unnecessary fight on an otherwise normal day - if  _ normal  _ meant capturing a Strain in the Red King’s terrain and facing the consequences of both crossing territory  _ and _ causing a few explosions to go off in the name of justice was a normal day - but Fushimi didn’t care to listen to her words, instead moving his right hand to scratch lazily at his burned HOMRA mark and hopelessly wondering when the ghost of that bright, bright smile that had somehow attached itself to his sleeves would finally learn its place and stay forgotten in the corner of his mind.

Awashima had stopped talking at one point and was giving Fushimi a stern side-long look as they walked, and he answered whatever was on her mind with a click of his tongue, dropping his hand back to his side and looking ahead as if Awashima had never spoken. Eventually the Scepter 4 vans came to view, along with their Captain and the Strain, whom was in cuffs and glaring at anything that moved. Fushimi clicked his tongue again; this Strain didn’t look like much of a coherent speaker, meaning that it’d be difficult to peel information off of them. As they neared Munakata, the Strain was elegantly naming off every expletive they knew and tugging on their cuffs, as if they thought that if they found the right word it would just magically unlock itself.

Fushimi was tempted to kick the Strain, but one glance at Awashima told him that it wasn’t worth the extra paperwork he would have to do on top of reporting his earlier scuffle with Yata. He sighed, irritated at the fact that his encounter with Yata was cut much too short for his own liking and that literally nothing else was going well for him today.

It was stupid how, after nearly three years apart, his mind still somehow still managed to trail back to Yata. The dorm bunk was still too cold, the scar on his chest still tingling with every sight of that soft, auburn hair. It was  _ stupid _ . He can live without the guy, he  _ knows _ he can, but his mind isn’t letting go for some godawful reason.

Sometimes Fushimi wondered if Yata was just as affected as he was even after all these years, but his reaction to Fushimi every time they saw each other told him otherwise. It was just anger that he saw in those bright, bright eyes now, and Fushimi honestly didn’t know what to think of it.

 

* * *

 

He should be happy. The Slates are finally,  _ finally _ gone and their powers are dissipating with each passing day, but something was off, something was  _ still _ missing.

His leg wound was healed, the paperwork began - surprisingly - dwindling as the days rolled by, and Strains haven’t been sighted in almost a week, which hopefully meant that everything was soon coming to an end. Earlier reports also told him that HOMRA had been officially disbanded as of late, though most of the clansmen opted to continue visiting the bar and hanging out as if nothing changed.

It was yet another quiet day today save for Doumyouji’s random outbursts of laughter and Hidaka’s pleas to  _ please shut up _ . It was almost too quiet, and Fushimi didn’t even need to stay in the office for more than a few hours before his pile of paperwork was done and he started to go to work on reviewing everyone else’s reports, silently cursing most of them for making such horrid reports and being given the task of proofreading every single one of them, sometimes even rewriting the entire report due to how terrible it was written.

Oh, and those stupid doodles of Doumyouji’s, fuck those too.

When that was over and done with, he dropped off the papers and left work to go take a walk to clear his head. He didn’t do this very often, but it was  _ that _ time of year again, and he  _ still _ couldn’t shake loose the almost urgent need to see the flower petals in all their glory before the trees became bare once again.

It was there that he saw that all-too-familiar tuft of red hair swaying with the light breeze around them. His back was turned to Fushimi, but the white headphones around the other’s neck made it much too obvious just  _ who _ was sitting on the bench on the other walkway, overlooking the lake with the island in the middle of it all. Everything was tainted a sickly pink, but it was a pink that brought back the memory of crepes and a stupid art project that they  _ did _ end up making - and it was even fitted with the LED lights that the other kid had wanted so badly. 

He crossed the patch of grass that was in-between the walkways and stood behind Yata for a moment before realizing that music was playing through the headphones, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Still listening to that band?” Fushimi huffed, allowing a half smile to decorate his face as Yata whirled around in surprise and met Fushimi’s eyes.

“Y-you..!” Yata sputtered, standing up to look at him properly. “Why are you here?”

Fushimi walked over to the other end of the bench and sat there, completely avoiding the question because really, why  _ was _ he there? He couldn’t say it was a routine he did unconsciously every year since that first time. He raked through his thoughts for  _ something _ to do, to  _ say _ , but he came up empty-handed and opted to focus his eyes on the view of the lake in front of him.

Yata sighed and sat back down on the bench, turning off his headphones and allowing the breeze to fill the silence. It had been a month since they last saw each other, and it was still much too awkward to bring up anything. 

But Yata was trying, and Fushimi could tell that Yata really did want to piece back their friendship together, because he wasn’t being loud and angry like he has been the past few years. He was actually  _ thinking _ , and that in itself was unusual given his firey personality.

“You know,” Yata finally spoke, his eyes trailing a petal as it danced, “there’s a new co-op shooting game at the arcade we used to go to but there are these stupid puzzles and shit that I can’t figure out on my own.” He turned to Fushimi, eyes guarded but there was a spark of hope Fushimi couldn’t help staring at. “Do you… do you think you can help me out sometime?” 

Fushimi’s eyes widened. Yata was trying hard to keep his eyes on Fushimi, watching for even the slightest hint of refusal. He looked at Yata for what felt like an eternity before he clicked his tongue and faced forward yet again. He gave a slight nod and noticed Yata’s shoulders relaxing from the corner of his eyes.

“Great!” Yata was smiling, and Fushimi wanted so badly to look at that smile - the one that was only for him and him alone - but he felt like he still didn’t deserve that smile, didn’t deserve the fluttering he knew he’d feel in the pit of his stomach if he allowed himself to see that smile for all its worth. “I have the weekend off if you maybe want to…” Yata didn’t finish his sentence.

“Sure.” Fushimi finally talked, and that smile only  _ grew _ , along with his desire to turn and look at it.

“Awesome!” Yata laughed, turning back to the scene before them. The silence was comfortable and Fushimi didn’t even realize the time yet until Yata suddenly shouted something about being late for work and standing up abruptly. He looked at Fushimi one last time, who was pretending he wasn’t watching the whole ordeal from the corner of his eyes, and smiled sheepishly.

“I gotta go.” Yata mumbled. “I’ll see you this weekend, then?”

That was only a few days away, and Fushimi found himself suddenly counting the hours until Saturday came. “... Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“... and get this, Kamamoto actually  _ proposed _ to her after so long!” Misaki exclaimed as he walked side-by-side with Saruhiko. “It’s supposed to take place in a few months, but he says you should come too. You will, right?”

Misaki’s eyes were hopeful as Saruhiko turned to look at the shorter man. “Do I have to?”

“Well, no…” Misaki’s confidence faltered. “I guess you don’t. It’d be kind of awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course.” Saruhiko rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I actually got along with you guys.”

Misaki hummed in agreement. They had already talked about all the heavy things that they needed to talk about a year ago, and now they were building their friendship up on a clean slate, with Misaki asking him to go places and help him with trivial things all the time. One thing that Misaki seemed to avoid, though, was Saruhiko’s relationship with HOMRA, because it always set the other on edge when HOMRA was brought up.

“Everyone’s got a plus one for the wedding already.” Misaki sighed. “Kusanagi’s taking the Tundra Woman and even Anna managed to be friends with  _ that brat _ of all people.”

“So?” Saruhiko knew where Misaki was getting at, but he just wanted him to say it out loud for the sake of teasing. It wasn’t like he really  _ didn’t _ mind going to the wedding, as long as Misaki was near him. It was almost a given that Munakata is going to attend, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be dragged to it either way.

“So won’t you be my plus one?” Misaki grumbled, turning away. Saruhiko smirked.

“Is Misaki asking me to be his  _ date _ to a wedding, of all things?” he teased. Misaki turned to look at him again, sputtering a response but not getting anything coherent out of his mouth. He scowled and looked forward again.

“It’s not a  _ date _ ! You don’t do those as weddings, that’s gross.” Misaki muttered. “I don’t even know why the fuck that brat’s even going. That guy hasn’t even  _ met _ Kamamoto!”

“A wedding date isn’t uncommon.” Saruhiko said bluntly, completely ignoring whatever else spilled out of Misaki’s mouth. “That’s probably why that fatso even suggested I come.”

“What are you talking about  _ now _ ?” Misaki huffed, obviously not following Saruhiko’s train of thought. As if he’d ever catch that train this early into their revived friendship.

“I’m saying.” Saruhiko enunciated every word slowly and clearly to make sure Misaki got what he was trying to say. “Wedding dates are okay, and he only suggested I come because you don’t have a date to it yet. Ah…” Saruhiko chuckled. “You know, Captain probably doesn’t have a wedding date either.”

Misaki scowled. “I’d rather have  _ you  _ as my wedding date than your king.” When he realized just  _ what _ it was he let spill out of his mouth this time, his face went red and he walked a few steps ahead of them. “A-ah… I didn’t mean it that way! Just.. ah… hey, want some ice cream or something?” Misaki stuttered as he spoke, not even looking back to see if Saruhiko was following. “This one’s great, it’s even got that weird italian ice cream or whatever they’re called…”

He turned to look at Saruhiko then, who was still smirking, but any sense of mischief was gone in his expression as he easily caught up to the other. “Now you’re asking me out on an  _ ice cream date _ ? Really, Misaki?”

“Oh, would you just shut up about that already!” Misaki yelled, causing a few heads to turn in their direction. His cheeks were painted red as he glared. “It’s not a date!”

“It sounds exactly like a date to me.”

“But it’s  _ not _ !”

“Coming from a virgin like you, it might as well be.”

“Then what the fuck do you call all those times we hung out together?”

“Whatever you want to call them, Misaki.” Saruhiko sang as he walked ahead and towards the shop Misaki was just pointing at.

Misaki sighed again, exasperated by the conversation. “You sound like you’re actually trying to get me to ask you out on a date.”

Saruhiko looked back at Misaki but didn’t answer anymore as he entered the ice cream store with the other in tow.

“Welcome!” a voice greeted him, but he didn’t bother to look at the attendant as he scanned the tags for each of the flavors. Misaki was right next to him, face flushed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“One cup of vanilla gelato.” Saruhiko said plainly. “And a strawberry gelato for this guy.”

Misaki turned to Saruhiko. “What the fuck?”

“You were taking too long.”

“We’ve only been in here for a  _ minute _ , Saru.”

“Yeah, and?” He walked up to the register, pulling out the money to pay for both of their gelatos.

“Hey, I can pay for my own, you know…” Misaki said, raising his hand to stop the other.

“’s fine.” Saruhiko mumbled, putting the bill on the counter. “A few hundred yen isn’t going to make me broke.”

Misaki’s cheeks were red once again as Saruhiko handed him the cup, picking up one of the two spoons that was in the other hand. “... thanks.” he mumbled before turning to sit at a table in the corner. Saruhiko sat down as well and began to eat his cup of ice cream, taking small bites as if he was afraid of getting a brain freeze or something.

The atmosphere was peaceful again; Misaki would bring something up like a video game one of the HOMRA guys lent him or the newest song he found and came to love, and eventually they ended up sharing Saruhiko’s earbuds and listening to one of the many new Misaki found and kept over the years.

“... I wonder if this is what a date would feel like.” Misaki murmured, obviously tired and affected by the soft melody that played through his left earbud. 

“But wouldn’t that mean that we’ve been dating since we were twelve?” Saruhiko remarked almost immediately, and he regretted not giving it a second thought as Misaki reacted almots instantly to that innocent question.

Misaki, who had his arms folded on the table with his head resting on them, shot up and allowed the earbud to fall out of its place. “Wh-what the fuck are you saying?” 

Saruhiko swallowed the spit that had begun to collect in his mouth. He did  _ not _ prepare for this conversation, nor did he ever expect  _ Misaki _ of all people to bring it up -  _ at all _ . He settled with clicking his tongue and looking away with a scowl, allowing Misaki to think whatever he wanted to about the situation.

Misaki was obviously contemplating what had rolled off of Saruhiko’s tongue just a moment ago and laughed softly, startling the other. “I knew it, you were trying to get me to ask you out on a date…”

“What makes you think that?” Saruhiko looked at him, refusing to allow any emotions show on his features.

“Everything about today.” His confidence was back as he looked smugly at Saruhiko. “Damn, I didn’t think you actually liked me  _ that  _ way.” 

“So cocky, aren’t we?” Saruhiko challenged, eyes narrowing.

“Aha! So I’m right!” Misaki grinned. “God, you’re awful at trying to say what’s on your mind…” He shook his head, the smile never fading. “So that means you’ll be my plus one to the wedding right?”

Saruhiko’s expression didn’t change one bit as he turned away, completely ignoring the man across the tiny table from him. That only spurred Misaki on, who was looking at him with a triumphant glint in his eyes.

“I’m going to take that as a yes, then.” He said, stretching his arms out. Pushed Saruhiko’s earphones towards him. “Hey.. wanna head out of here now?”

Saruhiko grunted and stood up, picking the earphones up tossing his cup away before heading out without needing to turn back, knowing that Misaki was trailing not far behind. He was beyond annoyed right now, what with his pent-up feelings finally being released into the open in the most unexpected way possible, but Misaki didn’t seem one bit fazed by the fact that his once-best-friend was actually gay.

_ Did that mean…? _

“You know,” Misaki’s voice cut him from his thoughts, “thanks for the ice cream date.” his hand was suddenly on his sleeve, and the slight tug made Saruhiko remember all those countless times his friend had done that to him years before, back when they were stupid kids that didn’t understand how the world operated and that their plan to take it over wasn’t as foolproof as they thought it was. It reminded him of the crepes and the cherry blossoms and Misaki’s head leaning against his shoulder, and Saruhiko suddenly realized that Misaki really was - and still is -  the only thing he had ever wanted to have and to hold onto forever. 

He took a chance and pulled his hand away, intertwining their fingers and looking as if he hadn’t just done that.

Misaki’s eyes were wide and curious as he stared at their joined hands, and in the next moment it was bright, bright,  _ bright _ , his eyes shining and his smile silently telling Saruhiko that he had done the right thing, that everything was okay, that Misaki isn’t going to run away in terror.

“You’re pretty bold for someone that had issues with putting their head on my lap eight years ago.” Misaki said, squeezing Saruhiko’s hand ever-so-slightly.

“You’re pretty bold for a virgin that probably hasn’t ever gone on a real date before.” Saruhiko replied, smirking when he caught Misaki’s startled expression.

“Real date? What the fuck?” He glowered. “Do you not enjoy ice cream and video games or something?”

Saruhiko laughed happily, a sound neither of them have heard in  _ years _ . “Who knows.”

Misaki shook his head and sighed heavily. “Picky ass. At least tell me if you’re having fun or something so we can do something else…”

Saruhiko thought for a minute. “If it’s Misaki,” he said, looking up at the grey sky. It looked like it was about to snow soon. “I’ll always have fun.” He could feel Misaki’s heartbeat quickening - at least, he thought it was Misaki’s but even his own heart was beating faster than usual. Something like a fond smile replaced Misaki’s earlier broad grin.

“Good,” he murmured softly, “because you’re going to have to put up with my shit from now on anyways.”

And if that wasn’t a promise that meant Saruhiko was going to be able to have and to hold the one thing - the one  _ person _ \- he’d ever wanted in his life, he didn’t know what else to think of it as.


	2. Hide-n-Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yata's convinced he can just disappear, but in his desperation to find _someone_ that cared about him, he decides to play a game of hide-n-seek.
> 
> This story was written for World Suicide Prevention Day, which was on September 16th. The story itself was written back in March/April, so this story kinda sucks. Forgive me.  
>  **Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is really old, and I never managed to rewrite it to actually fit my current writing style, so this fic is gonna look as if it was written by a barely-literate 12-year-old that thought suicide was as great topic for a story.

_Thirty-four days, fourteen hours, and thirty-nine minutes have passed since Yata Misaki had been officially declared missing._

If it weren’t for Izumo Kusanagi convincing the investigators to make another attempt at the search, he wouldn’t already been pronounced dead.

The only clue they could find in his raggedy apartment was an out-of-place wall calendar on his kitchen counter with the day _Saturday, September 10_ circled over and over again in red pen. The calendar had no other traces of use; each page was as crisp as if he only bought it yesterday. Yata’s apartment was otherwise neat and orderly, save for empty bottles of alcohol tossed carelessly under the sink and drops of blood scattered throughout the apartment, ranging from groups of tiny droplets to large pools.

Nobody knew exactly how long Yata has been _actually_ missing; his landlord had one day went to visit him, only to find the apartment void of life. Nobody knew where he could have gone. Nobody knew who he was in contact with before his disappearance.

Right before the initial investigators could throw in the towel yet again, Munakata found out about and took the job off of the ‘normal’ police force’s hands, almost certain that if _someone_ could find Yata, it would be one of his clansmen.

Surprisingly, this certain clansman of his had been completely unaware of Yata’s disappearance, despite having been his best friend up until just a few years ago.

Fushimi Saruhiko, Scepter 4’s third-in-command and best-friend-turned-mortal-enemy of Yata Misaki, had been given full control of the investigation starting September 8 - 48 hours before the day that was marked on the calendar.

Upon receiving the legal documents and official reports of the investigations at exactly midnight, Fushimi could only stare in disbelief as he read Yata’s name over and over again, refusing to accept that it was _his_ Misaki that had gone completely off the radar for over a month. Photographs of his apartment depicted that of someone who had completely and utterly _given up_ on life. The blood contrasted too much with his apartment; he was wild, yes, but he had always been a caretaker, too. He would never let his apartment become this messy, _ever_. The calendar looked as if it was trying to tell them where Yata was, but nobody could fit the pieces together…

... But of course Fushimi fit the calendar’s puzzle pieces together with ease. All he had to do was look up the day on the Internet and lo and behold:

_September 10, 2016: World Suicide Prevention Day_

It was a challenge, it seemed. Everything looked like a challenge if it involved Yata. It’s what he lived on. _Can you find me_? The calendar seemed to be mocking him.

Fushimi slammed a fist onto the table the moment he put it together; Yata had given them about _five weeks_ to find him. It was like some sick game of hide-n-seek, but the consequence if the person who was ‘it’ lost was that a life might be lost.

"You fucking _idiots_!" Fushimi uncharacteristically screamed to nobody in particular, startling the few Scepter 4 clansmen who had been invited by Munakata to aid in the investigation. "How the _fuck_ am I supposed to find him in _two days_ if it’s been at least five weeks since?"

The other clansmen stayed silent, unwilling to get in Fushimi’s way during this investigation. They had only been invited because Munakata expected Fushimi to work with someone, but everyone who _knew_ Fushimi also knew that he was more than capable of handling this single-handedly.

Fushimi scowled as he read through the rest of the evidence they had found in the few weeks they had. All of HOMRA had joined in on the investigation since day one, but Yata hadn’t been seen in _any_ of his usual hangouts. Moreover, even their underground information brokers had no clues to offer. The only thing they _had_ that they could offer as a clue were his last words to Kusanagi before he left Bar HOMRA for the second-to-last time.

_"Since everyone leaves me anyways… Would it be better if I just... disappeared?"_

Fushimi could kill Izumo for responding with silence at those words. _How the_ fuck _did he not figure out that Misaki wasn’t thinking straight_

Fushimi stared and stared at Yata’s words, desperate for there to be _some_ kind of clue nested within it.

Except there wasn’t. All that was there in those words was Yata trying desperately to find something, _anything_ to hold on to, but he could only grasp at the air as the world seemed to collapse in on him, and everyone around him had practically ignored his silent cries for help.

Guilt started to weigh Fushimi down mercilessly like an anaconda constricting its prey. Here he was, always telling Yata to look at him and _only_ him, yet _he himself_ couldn’t so much as look right back at him and notice how he had been slowly losing his will to live. Ever since the Red King’s death all those months ago, Fushimi _knew_ something was off with Yata. He _knew,_ but he never acted upon it. It never occurred to him how Yata had slowly stopped threatening to kill him every time they clashed.

Fushimi had already learned that HOMRA had tried desperately to stick together, but only the most loyal had still stuck around the bar to this day. Day by day, one or many of Yata’s fellow clansmen would suddenly just stop visiting the bar without so much as a goodbye. Watching everyone leaving him like must have been so damn _painful_ , especially for someone like Yata.

"Misaki, where are you?" Fushimi whispered to himself after having calmed down to an extent. He was scared. He didn’t want to lose Yata this way. He didn’t want Yata’s fire to burn out just yet. "Misaki, you can’t go like this."

Most, if not all of Scepter 4 was fully aware of Yata and Fushimi’s love-hate relationship. It was painful for some of them to watch them quarrel during every moment they had with one another, and could only look away awkwardly when Fushimi insisted that nobody else target Yata in any given situation.

Fushimi had only 44 hours until the 10th.

"Get me cameras around HOMRA." He demanded his subordinates, who could only obey lest they incur Fushimi’s wrath. "Set the date to fourteen days before his disappearance." It was 4am and they should have retired for the night, but Fushimi didn’t care as he downed yet another cup of coffee. Sleep wasn’t important right now – finding Yata was.

They did as they were told, and they all watched as their missing person walked into the bar in the morning, and out at night. Nothing unusual. He seemed completely _normal_ , save for the jacket we wore 24/7 despite it being warm outside.

But his eyes. _God_ , if only the people actually looked and saw how lifeless his eyes had become.

"Get Kusanagi on the line. I need surveillance of the inside of HOMRA dating back to this timeline." He commanded. A collective " _roger_ " reverberated around the room as one of them headed out the room to contact the man.

The cameras that were set up outside of HOMRA were next to useless, save for telling them what time Yata came in and out of the bar, and what directions he took. He always took different directions, and it usually led to the grocery stores or the nearby park, but one day he had left the bar with a box and headed straight home. They assumed that this was where the bottles of alcohol in his apartment had originally come from

Fushimi had finally gotten a hold of HOMRA’s interior surveillance, but could only watch in horror as the crisp videos portrayed a near-empty bar. The air felt heavy with negativity. They all watched as Kusanagi left Yata to tend to the empty bar late at night while he went out for god-knows-what reason. Hours after Kusanagi left, Yata pulled out his PDA-watch and began to type out a message, though he had discarded it after having hovered over the "Add Recipient" button for far too long.

"Give me a clearer shot of that message." Fushimi said as calmly as he could. "Faster!" He growled out after a few seconds, despite having tried to keep his cool. There was _no time to waste._

"Take a screencap." Was all Fushimi could say before something starting constricting in his throat.

_What if I killed myself?_

Fushimi’s blood went cold; Yata had never been the one to joke about these kinds of things.

"Continue the clip." He said harshly, battling against his inner desire to run out and personally search every nook and cranny of Shizume City. The clip began to play again, and moments later Yata had pulled out his PDA-watch once again, hesitating over a single tiny blue icon on his home screen. Fushimi’s heart sank as Yata pulled up Fushimi’s contact information and lifted a shaking finger to the call button. For whatever reason the call never connected, and he instead began to type a short, but painful message.

_Saru, I’m sorry.  
Please be okay when I’m gone._

They stopped the clip to read the message, but Fushimi wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to keep reading what Yata had kept typing. He kept his eyes trained on him nonetheless, silently begging him for _some_ information about his current whereabouts. Fushimi’s train of thought seemed to be going haywire; Yata had tried to call for his help, but he never heard. He could have saved Yata, _if only he had noticed sooner_.

_Please come and say goodbye to me._

Yata never hit send. His whole body was shaking and he slipped off the barstool and crumpled to the floor, sobs racking his body as he tried desperately to just _breathe_. The raw feelings sent shivers down Fushimi’s spine. Oh, how he wished that Yata was just under the influence of some drug but he knew the fiery redhead wasn’t. He was just being pure, pained Yata, and it scared him.

"Saru..." Yata cried out painfully. "Help me..."

Just then Kusanagi had returned and found Yata like that, but the moment he had tried to reach out for the young vanguard he had bolted out of the bar with blinding speed. Kusanagi had tried to chase after him, but he was too fast. Yata knew where the cameras were, and had successfully dodged all but the camera that showed the subway station.

It had taken them much too long to find that short clip of him.

Fushimi had 40 hours left to find Yata.

The few men behind Fushimi caught their breaths as they all watched Yata break into the closed station. The night vision cameras did little to detect Yata, but Fushimi found him all the same and watched as Yata jumped down from the platform and ran off into the subway tunnel.

He commanded that they pull up an underground map of the subway station, but only found that there were doors that lead to a million other underground trails that would stretch all across the city.

They were practically at a dead end now.

" _Fuck_!" Fushimi nearly yelled again. This was too much. Even if they tried to go through each and every camera in Shizume City, it would take much too long. Time was of the essence right now and Fushimi could only hope that Yata had left some sort of message _somewhere_ , _anywhere_ , that would lead them to him.  
  
_Saru, help me..._

* * *

Yata didn’t know what was wrong.

He gave and gave and gave, desperate to find a place to stay, _to belong_ , but they _just kept leaving_. Was it something he did wrong? Was he not giving enough? He couldn’t even protect those dear to him; even his parents didn’t even need him anymore. He had failed as HOMRA’s caretaker and vanguard. He had failed as a friend, a partner, an enemy…

The death of his King had triggered the nightmares. The faces of everyone that has left him, that has made him feel _unneeded_ , had kept him from sleeping.  He couldn’t stand to see their faces. He couldn’t stand to see Totsuka’s smile or Mikoto’s smirk, or even Saruhiko’s scowl of all things. As the days passed by, the voices in his head had started growing louder and more restless, and soon enough he began to succumb to them. They told of tales of a place that was filled with happiness, where there was no pain nor sadness. It was a fairytale kingdom, _just for him_.

All it costed was his life.

In truth, he had thought of killing himself so, _so_ many times ever since the voices took over his thoughts. But _every single time_ he had been ready with one of Fushimi’s knives positioned at his neck, he _just couldn’t do it_. Not with Fushimi’s knife. Fushimi had always been an idiot and might misunderstand something if he used it. So Yata waited. Waited for his body to give up. Waited for his mind to shatter.

Waited for someone to bring him back to life.

He wanted someone to save him. He was _desperate_ for someone to save him. There had to be _someone_ that thought he deserved to live, but after having been underground here for nearly five weeks and living on stolen snacks and water from an eatery he found in another corridor that he vaguely made out to be part of the main subway trail, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he had been poisoning himself all this time with the food.

Yata stared down the dimly lit subway corridor. One side would take him to an intersection that would lead him to either the entrance of a subway or a hidden kitchen that was probably used for when workers had to stay under for a lengthy period of time. There was a bathroom there was well, thankfully. He didn’t know where the other direction lead to, but he had made one of the small rooms his deathbed since the day he nearly called Saruhiko for help. He had taken enough food and water from the kitchen to keep him alive for maybe another few days, but he had recently stopped eating altogether in favor of the feeling of being _so_ _close_ to the edge. He had an easier time sleeping when his stomach ate away at any remaining muscle and fat he had on his weak, bony body. He wanted someone to pull him out of the darkness that had seemed to surround him, but he also wanted to submit to the darkness - to let it consume his very being.

Yata hasn’t eaten properly in _so_ long. He doesn’t even remember the last time he saw the sun. He only knew the time and day because of his PDA-watch, which was probably pretty close to dying as well, considering the solar battery already died two weeks ago.

Two more days.

He’s giving the world two more days.

He was probably being unfair by not leaving clues around. It would be a miracle if someone had managed to stumble here and find him, mostly dead but still _somehow_ alive. There was no phone reception in the underground trails, so his watch couldn’t hope to be traced.

He stumbled into his little room, torn between eating and letting starvation waste yet another day for him. He had eventually settled for downing a whole bottle of water, and nearly threw up as his body tried to reject the liquid. Once it had finally settled in his stomach, he just lay on the cold, grimy floor, no longer concerned for hygiene. _It didn’t matter if he was going to die soon._

He let the darkness consume his thoughts, and before he lost consciousness he found himself thinking of Fushimi again. Would he be mad if he somehow survived and was found here by him? Would he kill Yata on the spot? Would he finally be happy, now that his enemy was gone? Or would he cry for him?

Yata laughed dryly at his last thought. “Yeah, right…” He rasped, feeling his mind begin to shut off once again.

“Saruhiko...”

* * *

Fushimi has never before panicked outwardly, so seeing him a complete mess in the conference room scared everyone that had been given the honor of taking a glimpse of him. Papers were scattered everywhere and a map of the city was drowning in scribbles and pinned papers containing various useless information. Another map - that of the underground trails - was strewn across the floor, obviously having been sat on as someone tried to draw along the trails. Empty coffee mugs were scattered on all the tables. Fushimi had sent everyone else away, but people still came in and out of the room to check on him, only to be met with either a knife thrown close to their faces or a death glare worthy to be a horror movie poster.

He only had 24 hours left before _who knows what_ would happen.

He kept the subway surveillance cameras playing on one of the monitors at all times, praying that Yata would just randomly show up and leave _some sort_ of trail for him. Or maybe leave the subway completely and into the streets so he could chase him down. Either seemed highly unlikely, but he still _hoped_.

The clock had struck midnight once again. Fushimi couldn’t find any more clues to his whereabouts. He had even visited the subway station to investigate, but couldn’t find a single clue as to _which_ door Yata took. He could’ve checked all of them by now, but they each branched off into more and more trails, and it was highly likely that they would only get lost, which meant more precious time wasted.

His brain was fried. He needed rest, but he didn’t have the time to. He probably could just run down the subway screaming his name, but what were the chances of Yata responding?

\---

When the clock struck 8am, the sound of knuckles tapping the other side of the door resounded throughout the room, causing his headache – and irritation - to grow worse. He didn’t have the time to get reprimanded again for not sleeping; _Yata was in danger_ and that was all that was important to him right now. He had just wasted eight more hours studying his dead-end, and he couldn’t even force a transmission through Yata’s PDA no matter _how_ hard he tried to. It was frustrating, it was terrifying, it was -

“Fushimi.” It was Awashima. “I brought someone who might be able to help you.” She opened the door, and ushered a tiny, pale girl into the room. She looked up at Fushimi, calm as ever.

“Anna.” Fushimi said flatly, barely containing the pent-up irritation in his voice.

“She has offered her help, so please treat her well.” Awashima ordered, leaving just as soon as she entered. She casted Anna a sideways glance, genuinely worried for her well-being, but left anyways. Fushimi _just then_ remembered that Anna had the ability to find others through her small red marbles, and Fushimi for once felt _hopeful_. _Truly hopeful_.

There was still a chance.

Fushimi immediately began clearing mugs and papers off of the larger tables, and splayed out the map of the underground tunnels. The subway station Yata was last seen in was angrily circled in red, as if circling it over and over again would _somehow_ reveal his whereabouts. Anna sat down in one of the chairs and delicately placed four marbles onto the map. They both watched as the marbles spun in circles, searching. “This will take a while.” Anna said, looking up at Fushimi. “You should rest.”

Fushimi shook his head. Sleep… he’ll sleep when Yata’s safe.

They both sat in silence, watching the marbles make their rounds on the map. Anna’s face was void of any emotion.

“Misaki,” she spoke after who knows _how_ long they had been sitting there and staring at the marbles, “he really wanted you to come back.”

Fushimi clenched his teeth, unwilling to accept the longing feeling that had tried to creep up on him. “What, is he still hung up over me leaving? He seemed _perfectly ready_ to kill me just last month.” Sarcasm was heavily laced into each word, in an attempt to mask his feelings.

“He always dreamt of a purple world.” Anna said, staring intently at the map. She was completely unfazed by his words. “Whenever he tried to rest at HOMRA.”

“What kind of world is that?” Fushimi spat, irritation growing with every word. He didn’t like where the conversation was going.

“He believes,” she looked Fushimi dead in the eyes, “that you can still save it.”

“There’s nothing left _to_ save.” Fushimi said, standing up abruptly to grab yet another cup of coffee from the coffee maker. He knew where she was going with the conversation, and thoroughly believed that _whatever_ Yata was dreaming about wouldn’t make a difference between them. Anna kept quiet after that, and Fushimi went back to keeping tabs on the monitors while typing away at his laptop. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was useless to look back at the information he already pretty much _memorized_ , but he kept _looking_ , kept _hoping_ that Yata had left something for him.

After another hour or so of fruitless searching, the pressure of time started to weigh in heavily on Fushimi.

Fifteen hours. That’s all he had.

Would Yata do something at exactly midnight? Or would he wait until the morning? Would he last until nighttime? The possibilities were endless, and it unnerved Fushimi to have such an open-ended outcome. The sound of rolling marbles served to amplify the feeling of panic that had finally made its way to Fushimi’s system. Was he shaking from the caffeine, or was he really, _truly_ terrified?

Fushimi wasn’t even aware of how quickly time had been passing by. Anna looked worn out from having used her power for so long; people came by to check on her every once in a while, but she always said that she was perfectly fine, and went back to concentrating on Yata’s whereabouts. Fushimi, on the other hand, was hacking away into the subway system, hoping that there was _something_ in their system that would prove useful.

Anna looked up from her seat and watched Fushimi frantically type away at his laptop. She didn’t know what else she could do to help, so she concentrated even _harder_ , knowing that time was going to run out _very_ soon. She had been trying on her own for weeks on end, but maybe, just _maybe_ , with Fushimi nearby she could have a better chance at creating a link to Yata.

Two hours left and Anna caught thoughts of purple.

She watched as the marbles clacked into each other, finding their way to a specific spot on the map.

She watched as Fushimi snapped his head to look at her – or rather, her marbles.

She watched as his eyes filled with hope, and smiled sadly.

The purple had begun to turn blue. 

* * *

It was yet another dream. Yata was glad it wasn’t a nightmare, but he didn’t want to dream a dream in which Yata’s make-believe world with Fushimi would be the last one he ever dreamt of. His thoughts wandered from the dream and his senses had suddenly returned, tossing him right back to reality.

_Where am I?_

Yata was tired. He was hungry. He didn’t even know what he was looking forward to.

Was he looking forward to a knight swooping him off of his dirty ass? Or was he looking forward to the fairytale kingdom the voices in his head had promised him?

Yata sat up from his sleeping position. He thinks he feels sore, but he’s not so sure anymore - his nerves have practically given up on him. His body felt either too light or too heavy. The light in the corridor nearly blinded him. He could barely hear anything over the loud beating of his heart.

He is close, he thinks.

_Why am I here in the first place?_

He asks himself, but he already knows. He knows how lonely it is up there. How unneeded he is. How fickle people are. There were no such things as loyalty or pride; they were merely things people would throw away at a drop of a hat if they were no longer happy with something. There were no such things as bonds or connections, either; it was as if everyone was connected by the tiniest, most fragile thread ever created.

Yata was tired of it all. Tired of the way people treated one another poorly. Tired of how easy it was for people to come and go. It was too much for him now.

“I’m not needed anymore.” Yata whispered to himself, leaning heavily against the concrete wall. _My mom found someone to take care of her and my siblings. HOMRA found other people to be with. Hell, Saruhiko found a whole new_ world _._

It was funny how Yata had been the one to be left in the dust now. If he didn’t care about others so much then _maybe_ he wouldn’t be awaiting death in a dingy room at god-knows-where. _Maybe_ he would be like everyone else, finding new groups of people to interact and be happy with instead of sitting around hopelessly praying that someone come save him.

_But I’m not worth saving now, am I?_

Yata tried to eat some of the crackers, and barely succeeded in eating one before the nausea kicked in.

_Ah… I guess it’s too late now, either way._

He mustered up the strength to check his watch. The green light hurt his eyes, and as he squinted to look at the date he could only laugh bitterly.

“I guess time’s up.” He murmured as he slowly reached for the only weapon he had carried with him.

The knife felt heavy in his hand as he thumbed the handle. The way it glinted against the light from the corridor hurt his eyes terribly. He drew the knife in closer to his chest. Yata hated holding onto Fushimi’s knife because it kept reminding him of the guy. It kept reminding him of how much Fushimi meant to him. Hell despite their ups and downs he _still_ means the world to Yata.

Flashes of purple and a field of tiny blue and purple flowers filled his mind. An overwhelming sense of calmness enveloped him. He felt peaceful. The flashes of purple soon separated and hues of reds and blues had appeared in this dream-field. He could almost imagine himself with his best friend in this world. If they were in _that_ world instead, everything would have been perfect.

_Ah, it’s the world I’d wanted to create._

_And it’s a world that’ll soon be mine_.

Yata closed his eyes and laughed bitterly. “I wanted to see that stupid Monkey one more time, too.” He whispered.

He gripped the knife even tighter and brought it even closer to his chest. It easily pierced through his ragged jacket, and the cold hard metal met pale, dirty skin. He brought up his other hand to the pommel.

_Am I really going to do this?_ He wondered. He felt blood start to drip from the tiny cut he made. His heartbeat sounded even louder than before. There was a faint rumbling in the distance.

Yata gripped the world of purple that he had painted in his mind, and listened to a faint lullaby that he remembered Fushimi singing so, _so_ long ago.

He raised the knife just a little and gripped it with both hands.

He let the lullaby put his pained mind at ease while he –

* * *

Fushimi bolted right out of headquarters the moment Anna’s marbles honed in on one specific spot. He brought nothing but a PDA with him, afraid that anything else would only slow him down. His blue coat had been tossed away at some corner of the conference room where he left Anna in.

Anna’s smile had only confirmed his fears: He was ready to die _soon_.

Fushimi was never the athletic type of person. He was still _so far_ but his body was already about to cave in from lack of rest. He gritted his teeth and forced his feet forward, ignoring the protest of his feet as he dug them into the concrete with every step he took.

Crosswalk signs turned red at every intersection he had sprinted into. There were too many cars to simply run straight through them and he waited in irritation, silently cursing at every driver that drove past him. Why didn’t he grab one of the Scepter 4 vans and blare the sirens so that they would stop for him?

He wasn’t thinking straight, that’s for sure, but he wanted – no, he _needed_ – to get to Yata before it was too late. He counted the remaining minutes in his head, ignoring the growing pains from his lungs and legs.

Time was almost up. Time was almost up. If he didn’t act fast enough, _Yata_ ’s time would be up.

_He believes that you can still save it._

Fushimi clicked his tongue at the thought of it. He no longer knew what he really wanted from Yata. But right now, right this _very second_ , all he wanted from him was to just be safe. To be _alive_.

He hopped over the ‘closed’ cones of the subway station and jumped down to the tracks. He was close. He was _so close_.

Running in the direction of where Yata was last seen going, he mentally graphed out what turns he’d need to take. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that far from the tracks. If Fushimi had gone through with his plans to run around the subway station yelling his name, he _probably_ would have found him. It frustrated Fushimi, knowing now just how close Yata was this entire time.

Fushimi slammed the first door open and sprinted down the corridor, counting doors as he passed by.

_Five… Six…. Seven!_

He threw himself into the eighth room.

* * *

Yata’s hands were suddenly yanked away, and his purple world dissipated right in front of his eyes.

Someone was yelling at him, he thinks, but he still refuses to let go of the lullaby. The floor was suddenly missing from underneath him, and before Yata knew it he was being carried away.

His eyes were squeezed shut. He was desperate to bring the purple back.

* * *

“Misaki!” Fushimi had been yelling at him the entire time he had been carrying Yata. He didn’t answer. Yata smelled terrible, and he vaguely wondered if Fushimi noticed it. What _really_ mattered was how light Yata was in his arms, and how limp and unresponsive he was towards Fushimi.

They made it to the emergency stairs and Fushimi skipped steps as he brought Yata back to the subway platform, back to reality, back to the land where the sun shone.

Fushimi didn’t even bother pulling out his PDA and calling an ambulance; there was a hospital nearby that he could take Yata to. He dashed to it, ignoring the looks of any passersby, and burst into the hospital with a very light, very pale Yata in his arms. Fushimi’s panicked face might’ve been a dead giveaway, and so they immediately took Yata in and forced Fushimi into the waiting room.

He was being asked a million questions a minute about Yata, but he could only shake his head at them and curl into himself. _Misaki will be okay. Misaki will wake up. Misaki will be able to look at me again._

Fushimi fell asleep in the waiting room, dreaming of a world of purple and forget-me-nots scattered all across a field.

\---

“What were you thinking?” Fushimi’s voice was barely above a whisper. Yata hadn’t been responding to anyone’s questions and thought to bring Fushimi in to maybe coax Yata into speaking, but even that endeavor proved fruitless. Yata had been staring at his hands the entire time, looking as lifeless as in the videos and it wasn’t sitting well in Fushimi’s stomach. At all. Was there anything he could do to save Yata?

“Misaki, talk to me.” He continued. It was the fourth hour but Yata had still refused to speak.

“Misaki, please.” He whispered as another twenty minutes ticked by. “Say something.”

Maybe a confirmation was all Yata was looking for, because he finally spoke, in a soft and broken voice that nearly broke Fushimi’s heart. “Why did you save me?”

There were a million answers to that single question and Fushimi desperately wanted to tell Yata every single one, but Anna’s words nagged at the back of his mind and he somehow knew that maybe that’s what Yata needed all along. What _they_ needed all along.

Fushimi smiled weakly and bent over to look Yata in the eyes. “Misaki… tell me about your purple world.”


	3. Tomorrow at Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Yata nor Fushimi understood what it was they really wanted from life - from each other. And for once, Fushimi's the one to take the first step, to lower his guard and _speak_ to Yata for once.
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings:** None

The video tape froze on a smiling image of Yata Misaki during one of his birthday parties some years ago.

It was nothing new. If anything, Yata had been watching this video enough to know the exact seconds Mikoto and Totsuka would appear, and when Yata would be the focus of attention as he was handed his birthday cake and asked to blow out the candles.

Yata was honestly getting sick of this video but what else could he do? He smiled bitterly as he remembered the bright, beautiful red that lit up the sky that night, remembered the loss of his king and friend, remembered that since then he's been practically alone in an empty bar. None of the other HOMRA members paid a visit save for Kamamoto and Anna, but even their visits were few and far between. Kusanagi... Yata didn't even know where the bar owner was in the first place.

The loneliness began to creep up onto him, a feeling completely foreign to him yet vaguely reminded him of how left out he felt when his mother remarried and had two kids with his new step-father. It was like he didn't have anyone again, didn't have someone by his side like he was so used to having.

Icy blue eyes drifted into his thoughts and he clenched his fists, falling back onto the large couch he found a home in recently. _He doesn't miss me, why would he?_ Yata thought bitterly. He hasn't seen those eyes since the night the sky was lit red, hasn't seen any flurry of blue clothing since the day after.

He opened his watch and stared blankly at the three tickets Fushimi had given him so many years ago on one of his birthdays. He hadn't used any of them and he was certain they didn't come with an expiration date, so theoretically he could use one and ask for _that one person_ to keep him company for a day - but why would he? He was a traitor, wasn't he? What could he do to help Yata?

But it was also Fushimi who had inadvertently lifted the weight of loneliness off of his shoulders the first time, and the only one who was probably the only person vaguely aware of his problem. Now, in his desperation for a place to belong and to _stay_ in a place where he belonged, he ended up alone again, with nobody to confide in the way he confided in Fushimi all those years ago; nobody deserved to be burdened with these heavy thoughts of his, not Kamamoto, not Anna, not even that damned monkey.

Yata sucked in a breath as he fought against the pain of his heart constricting, forcing the tears back and punching the couch with whatever energy he had left. He wasn't allowed to cry. He would he made fun of if he did, right?

His stomach churned with hunger but he paid no mind to the protest. When was the last time he ate a full meal, anyways? He knows he lost weight- his hip bones jutted out more than usual and his collarbone was more prominent than before; his cheekbones seemed too obvious for someone with a cheeky smile like his. He might have had a cereal bar before dragging his sorry ass to the bar, but even that was a fleeting memory as nothing but those eyes - warm and cold, piercing yet soft all at the same time - sat watching him in his mind.

He exited the photo gallery app and lay there, hands trembling as he pulled up the contacts app and then stared at the only phone number without a name - it didn't need a name, not when he had already memorized it so long ago. Yata stared and stared, debating over whether to call or to message that number, but did neither in the end. With a frustrated sigh he exited the app and curled into a fetal position, quietly letting a dull pain course through his veins.

He just wanted to talk to _someone_ , to know that he wasn't as alone as he was feeling, but that someone he wanted so desperately to see again was too far out of his reach now, as if they were a whole ocean apart despite being nothing but a thirty-minute walk away.

 _It's okay though, right?_ Yata thought miserably. _It's okay as long as I'm not bothering anybody._

* * *

It took Fushimi five minutes to make up his mind about visiting the godforsaken bar in the middle of the afternoon.

Five months. Five months since he last saw his precious Misaki. Five months of glancing at his PDA and vaguely hoping that it'd buzz with some kind of assignment involving HOMRA, or better yet - a message from Yata, picking a fight or otherwise, but none came and he begun to feel overwhelmed by the silence as he remembered the time he found Yata in an unstable state of mind all those years ago. It was around the time they moved in together that he noticed Yata's insecurities, cleverly hidden in his loud and obnoxious persona but there all the same.

He could have just called Yata. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the probability of Yata answering his call was fairly high but if this was what he thought it was, then facing the ex-vanguard of HOMRA in person was the best course of action despite his growing desire to walk away from the one place he would rather not visit again in this lifetime.

Fushimi knocked once, twice - no answer came and it was easy to tell the door was unlocked, so he let himself in and closed the door quietly, senses on high alert as he reflexively tensed in anticipation for a fight with any of the remaining red clansmen.

Except there were none.

The bar was completely empty, and if it weren't for the skateboard that was carelessly left on the floor he would have thought that the place was completely deserted.

“So much for their bond running thicker than blood.” Fushimi muttered, clicking his tongue and flicking his eyes about the place. It was clean and tidy; most likely Yata had been working on keeping the place presentable and well tended-to despite the nonexistent visitors. He slowly made his way to the stairs that led to the spare rooms upstairs, unsure of what he'd see when he got up there.

He paused momentarily when he made it all the way up; what was he supposed to do once they saw each other? They were _enemies_. Fushimi wasn't even sure what he was doing there in the first place. He was supposed to have stopped caring about Yata ever since he left the other in the alley.

So why was he here, inside _HOMRA_ of all places, and seeing _him_ of all people?

He supposed it was because old habits die hard and he never really did stop fretting over Yata when he was depressed, but that didn't take care of the fact that he was a traitor in Yata's eyes all the same. Frankly, he no longer had the right to see Yata on friendlier terms anymore, not since he ripped apart their friendship and stepped all over his feelings like he would step on a cracker that was on the floor, grinding his heel into it until it was nothing but dust.

He chanced a glance towards the first room and immediately found Yata with his body facing away from the door, looking at something on his watch. Fushimi didn't know how to react when he noticed the familiar handwriting on the display, the same few words repeated three times:

_Backup Request Ticket._

It surprised him, really, because after so many years he was almost certain that Yata had actually tossed those tickets away. He watched as Yata exited the gallery and pulled out another app, keeping it open for what seemed like much too long before finally turning the display off and curling in on himself.

Fushimi's hand twitched as the urge to barge into the room grew and grew. He wanted to shake that body and demand that he just get over it. Just forget about them, forget about the past.

_Hurry up and become the Misaki I know!_

He only vaguely remembered how he managed to get Yata over it the first time, and his heart flipped a little at the memory of Yata curling up against his chest, desperate not for words but for company, and not just anyone's company -

_His._

And with that memory etched into his mind, he managed to kick away the incessant need to turn tail and run again. _Things like this never got better over time_ , he reminded himself. Fushimi tentatively walked into the room and hesitated before knocking softly on the doorframe. Yata snapped his head up in surprise and stared at Fushimi for what felt like much too long until the amber in his eyes seemed to dull slightly and he wore a face that looked resigned - _defeated_ even.

“What are you doing here?” The fight was absent in Yata's voice as he tore his gaze from Fushimi, fixing his attention to a blemish on the floor as he sat up a little more properly.

“You haven't made a mess in a while.” Fushimi answered. He could almost feel the tension between them.

“... Is that all you're here for?” Yata sighed. “I'm not going to fight you. Just get out if that's all you want from me right now.”

Fushimi’s eye twitched. “I’m not here for… that.” He murmured, watching Yata look blankly ahead, devoid of any emotion except that little bit of resignation.

_No, don’t look like that. Not in front of me._

“Then why are you here, you damned traitor?” There was no bite as Yata kicked at the floor.

Fushimi hesitated. He had a lot of reasons to come here but none of them sounded like something a _traitor_ would say. Treading on the past wasn’t a viable option, not when Yata looked like he was about to break down any moment. He moved to sit at the other corner of the couch, looking towards the same wall Yata was now currently having a staring contest with.

“You used to yell at me whenever I got this close to you.” Fushimi said, picking at his fingernails.

“You used to insult me the moment you laid eyes on me.” Yata countered weakly.

The silence that followed seemed heavy on Fushimi’s shoulders. He could still walk away now, leave Yata to be miserable on his own and whatnot. It was the easiest option.

But he stayed, because after calculating the possible outcomes of that specific course of action he figured it wasn’t worth losing Yata even more than he already has.

The silence between them wasn’t one he was comfortable with. “Aren’t you lonely here?” Fushimi finally managed to ask, placing an elbow on his knee and resting his cheek on his palm, facing Yata with a calm and cool expression.

Yata managed an amused huff before his face became stoic once again. “It’s not like I haven’t felt this way before.”

Something odd struck Fushimi. For all he knew, Yata could be asking for help right now or he might just be bitterly recalling how messed up be was when he first told Fushimi about feeling pathetic and worthless all the time.

Fushimi sighed. “You know,” he murmured, unsure of how to word his next sentence correctly “you can talk to me right now.”

Yata sighed again. “It’s not like I don’t want to.” His smile was forced, eyes too dull. “... but there’s no point if I have to pretend that this never happened.”

 _He’s trying to make peace with you,_ something in the back of Fushimi’s mind told him. _He’s willing to throw this rivalry away for you._ He shooed away the thought; he won’t believe that unless Yata said so himself. There’s way too many possibilities in those words of his - for one, he could just be telling him to fuck off again. Or he could be waiting for a moment of weakness and attack Fushimi all of a sudden. He could even be doing all this for the sake of capturing him for whatever reason.

They weren’t actually scenarios that made any _sense_ , and despite the numerous things that could go wrong, though, he decided to say the things he thought he’d never say, especially to an _enemy_.

“We don’t have to pretend that it never happened.”

Yata’s eyes widened and he turned to look at Fushimi in shock. He held Yata’s gaze for what felt like hours until the fire once again went out and his eyelids drooped just a little.

“You’re talking like you’re willing to be my friend again, Saruhiko.” Yata pulled another smile and turned to watch himself twiddle his fingers. “Don’t… don’t get my hopes up. At least… not now.”

It was getting late - Fushimi was late in returning from his break, too. He didn’t want to leave, not when Yata was like this and not after he had just said that to him. He had to, though, because there were still reports to write and he would have to report on his long absence as well as soon as he got back. It would be a hassle to throw more work onto himself when he knew he needed the time to pull Yata back.

He rose from his spot on the couch and looked at Yata one more time, who was quietly watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I have to go back to work.” Fushimi said, a mix of longing and guilt swirling around in his stomach. He turned and headed for the door, and before he walked past the doorframe he paused. “The park a few blocks from Scepter 4… I’ll be there at noon tomorrow.” If he finished his reports quickly later it’d be no problem. Even five minutes with Yata would be a lot of help for the ex-vanguard. As much as he didn’t want to go through this, didn’t want Yata leaning on him once again, he would rather do this than receive the news of a third red clansman dying.

 _What are you_ really _doing this for?_ Fushimi’s mind seemed to ask him as he walked off, hoping that Yata would take the bait, would reach out to him again.

* * *

Yata didn’t know why he was doing what the traitor wanted him to do. It was eleven-fifty, exactly ten minutes before noon. The sunlight was too bright and after a quick look in the mirror earlier that morning he had half a mind to tell himself that it wasn’t worth it, not when Yata looked like he lived under a rock for days.

But every time he tried to back away, Fushimi’s words drifted back into his mind.

_We don’t have to pretend that it never happened._

They did something to him. He had felt the air of hesitance as Fushimi threw down his guard and let Yata into his thoughts for a fleeting second. And hadn’t he reacted to it in a similar way?

 _Don’t get my hopes up._ He had said in return.

There was a spark of hope in his chest as he allowed his mind to wander. If they became friends again, what would their future look like? It definitely wouldn’t be like back then, no; there were too many people involved in their lives for such a small world to fit.

 _But we could make another one, just for the two of us,_ he mused. It was a nice thought. They could be allies of some sort and live and play together once again.

He let his mind play in that ideal for a while and jumped when a figure sat next to him for the second time. He turned his head to see Fushimi, clad in the usual Scepter 4 uniform. He was staring at the grass under his feet, hands in his pockets and a pout decorating his face.

It stung, for some reason. “You didn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to.” Yata muttered, turning away. “You can go if you want.”

“No.” Fushimi’s reply was so immediate that Yata flinched a little.

“... Why did you call me out here?” Yata couldn’t understand what was going on. Fushimi was always terrible with his emotions, and sometimes Yata ended up having to decipher it _for_ him, but this time felt too different from all the other times he got to tease Fushimi about them. This time there wasn’t any teasing, just a terrible feeling of hope that he knew was going to be the end of him one day.

It took Fushimi a while to reply, and when he did it was softer than Yata had ever heard his voice being. “You don’t deserve to feel alone.”

Yata’s eyes widened as he turned to look Fushimi in the face. There was a flutter of emotions as he tried to process the words but something akin to numbness weighed each and every one of them down and eventually, he felt just as useless as a minute ago. Fushimi must have felt Yata deflate; the corner of Yata’s mouth twitched and he tilted his head slightly to look at him.

Yata couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. For _Fushimi_ to be the one trying to comfort Yata was as absurd as raining pancakes. The idea of creating their own little world together was too far to reach, and most likely impossible considering Fushimi’s reluctance to try to communicate with Yata properly. Hell, Fushimi just _talking_ to him right now was probably the weirdest part of the entire situation. There were so many things wrong with this picture.

He barely registered Fushimi’s look of shock as his own body shook. “This is so stupid.” He huffed, playing with his fingers once again as he tried to control his voice. “Why the fuck do you even care about this, anyways? What are you getting out of this? Did your king send you to me to try and collect intel or something? I’ve got some big news for you, buddy: nothing’s going on.”

Fushimi jaw twitched as he pulled his hands out of his pockets. “He had nothing to do with this.” He nearly growled. “You think nothing’s going on, but do you realize how _pathetic_ you sound right now?”

Yata narrowed his eyes. “Me? Pathetic? I think I’m doing perfectly fine right now, thank you very much!”

He was suddenly on the ground, knife to his neck and a familiar body looming over him. “Tell me then, Misaki.” Fushimi’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Tell me why you’re not fighting back right now.”

It was true; if Yata had _really_ been okay he would have heard the knife flick into view and would have reacted accordingly... but here he was, body limp and useless under Fushimi’s.

The numbing weight seemed to increase tenfold as he looked into those icy blue eyes. They seemed to be searching for something in Yata’s expression.

“Tell me.” Fushimi continued, eyes darker than he’s ever seen them be. “Tell me why you’re not yelling at me and telling me to go away like you normally do.” His voice wavered as he slowly lost control of his emotions.

Yata didn’t reply; alarms went off somewhere in the back of his mind as he watched Fushimi slowly lose his control.

“ _Tell me why you came here_.”

* * *

_What’s there to fight for?_

The words were clearly written all over Yata’s face. Fushimi grit his teeth as Yata lay under him, completely at ease despite the knife that was dangerously close to pricking his skin.

 _What happened to you?_ Fushimi thought bitterly. _Where’s Misaki?_

“Remember when we used to always play videogames together, and you’d have to purposefully let me win so that I didn’t go to bed mad?” Yata spoke up suddenly, snapping Fushimi from his train of thought. “And then I’d still get mad at you because you let me win on purpose?”

Yata sighed. “And you know how we always end our fights in a draw nowadays?” He chuckled. Yata’s eyes were so dark, so _lifeless_ , and Fushimi finally understood that the sharp pang in his stomach was actually some sort of _fear_.

“What are you trying to say?” Fushimi’s grip on the knife tightened.

There was a smile on Yata’s face, devoid of any emotion. “If you wanted to win for once... I wouldn’t mind.”

Fushimi moved to dig the knife into the grass right by Yata’s ear, his fist shaking in anger. “What the fuck? Is this all a game to you?” He growled. “What the fuck is wrong, Misaki?”

“Everything’s wrong!” Yata nearly yelled in his face, suddenly exploding in a flurry of anger.

“Everything’s always been wrong when I’m involved! Haven’t you noticed?” There was a crack in his voice that neither was willing to point out. Fushimi didn’t know if he wanted to be relieved that he finally got Yata to talk or concerned because of the words spilling out of his mouth. “Every goddamn thing that I’m involved in _always_ gets fucking ruined! I’m distant from my family because I’m nothing but an outsider now. I can’t hold a fucking job because I always screw something up. Hell, I can barely pay my rent because I have to work two part-time jobs _and_ be a vanguard. Did I mention HOMRA fell apart because I couldn’t fulfill my role as vanguard? Fuck, I can’t even…” Yata choked. “I can’t even have my best friend because I’ve gone and fucked _that_ up too.” He was staring at Fushimi, eyes brimming with tears as he watched the other’s betray surprise.

“My best friend.” he choked. “The one that meant everything to me and _still_ means everything to me… do you know how hard it is to accept that? I mean shit, accepting the fact that Totsuka and Mikoto are dead… that’s fucking easy compared to this. There’s a fucking crater to prove that Mikoto’s gone. Totsuka fucking _died in my arms_ . But _you_ , I don’t understand you. You come and go and I’m left to believe that we’re enemies but _I don’t want to be enemies_ , Saruhiko. Not ever, not anymore.” He shoved Fushimi off of him and stood up, not once looking into his eyes. Fushimi still watched though, because Misaki was like a beautiful wildfire, destructive and quick to consume everything around it.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to stay away from you when all I want is to be by your side again?” Yata whispered.

Fushimi knew he had to speak soon, to let Yata know what exactly was on his mind, but the words couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ come out.

 _It’s always been you._ He wanted to say. _I want to stay by your side too._

He didn’t speak, and Yata must have took that the wrong way because he suddenly stiffened and relaxed immediately before making an exasperated huffing noise. “Please, Saruhiko.” He murmured. “Just win this stupid game already.”

Thoughts ran across his mind at a million miles per second as he sprang to his feet and stared at Yata’s back. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with Yata despite all he’s thrown at him. He knew Yata had already accepted what happened to HOMRA and what happened to Mikoto and Totsuka, but there was still something hanging around his neck like a noose that was slowly tightening.

This was dangerous water, because he knew Yata and knew that he was still perfectly capable of getting set off and getting angry, and maybe that was the best thing to do right now - to make him angry, to forget whatever he was feeling in his heart right now, because this was the exact reason why he never trusted his emotions anymore. They were too fickle, too quick to change, to drown.

What could he do to cut the right fuse? He has had a lot of experience disabling bombs, but Yata was nothing like one; despite knowing all the right buttons to press, he wasn’t certain which were the best to press. The uncertainty made him irritated for some reason - back then he could have said anything and the other would get angry but now it felt like the wrong move could tip Yata to the wrong side and he could lose him forever, alive or otherwise.

_What are you looking for, Misaki?_

“Do you want me to tell you that it’s going to be alright?” Fushimi drawled, hoping that it wouldn’t force Yata away. “That things get better?”

Yata stiffened again. _There we go._

“Do you want me to tell you that you did your job well? That as long as you keep trying your best, things will be okay once again?”

“Was anything ever okay?” Yata said, acid dripping with every syllable. “Everything I did… everything I _tried_ to do… it was never the right thing to do.”

“So _learn_ from them, idiot.” Fushimi willed the guilt away; he had to be stern, to hold his ground against the wildfire.

“Heh. I guess I am an idiot, aren’t I?” Yata’s mood changed drastically, surprising Fushimi. Yata turned back to look at Fushimi. “I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, I don’t even have a job anymore…”

 _You have me._ He wanted to scream it out loud for the world to hear but he knew it wasn’t true; he had let go of Yata'smiling hand all those years ago, when he thought - _knew_ \- that it’d be better to let go of the hand holding him before they tossed him into a river.

Fushimi clicked his tongue; his break had ended already and he wasn’t willing to stack even more work onto his already heavy load.

“Misaki.” He said, staring him straight into his eyes, searching for the familiar spark and finding no trace of it. “Tomorrow.”

Yata sighed, sounding almost exasperated. “Again with this? What are you trying to accomplish?”

Fushimi had no answer to that question. He was sure he wanted something from Yata, but he didn’t know what. Didn’t know what his mind was trying to push him towards.

“I'll be waiting.” was all Fushimi said before walking off reluctantly. He didn’t know what would happen between now and twenty-four hours later, but something told him that Yata would be there, would keep coming there, because even Yata knew what hope was and unlike Fushimi, he would chase after that small spark - wherever it may be.

Any maybe, just _maybe_ , as he followed Yata in his journey, Fushimi could come to understand what he was hoping for as well.

 


	4. Sunny Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misaki tries to cheat by storming through the walls of a sunflower maze.
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings:** None.
> 
> Unbeta'd

"Tell me again why we're here?" Saruhiko grumbled, obviously displeased by the fact that it was way too fucking hot outside to do _anything_ , yet here they were, in the middle of _who-knows-where_ , about to enter a sunflower maze of all things.

"I told you three days ago, didn't I?" There was a spark of mischief in Misaki's eyes as they lined up for the maze. "My mom told me about the annual sunflower maze near home and suggested that I go with you this year. I told you about me going there when I was a kid!"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue in reply and glared at the poor high school student that was in charge of admission, as if doing so could somehow convince the kid to refuse them access so that they could go home. The sun was irritating his eyes so he had reluctantly opted to wear a stupid looking red visor that Misaki had kept in their car for days like these, and it made Saruhiko all the less happy whenever he remembered that it was going to leave a stupid indent in his hair later on and that he was pretty much stuck wearing it the entire day, lest he allow Misaki to make fun of him for something as idiotic as hat hair.

It took a few minutes but it was finally their turn to enter, and the admissions guide was even kind enough to hand them each a water bottle before leaving them to choose which direction to go first.

"Good luck! And remember, the finishing lane is lined with _blue_ ribbons, not any other color!" The attendant waved as he turned to attend to the next person in line. Misaki gulped as he looked into the maze. The sunflowers were practically as tall - no, they were _definitely_ taller - as him, leaving the shorter one absolutely clueless as to where the other end even _was_. “Let's go…” Misaki contemplated going forward or right until a hand tugged at his own and led him into the right lane.

“Most mazes start out with their first turn being right.” Saruhiko muttered, recalling his last-minute research on the topic of mazes before Misaki pulled him into bed. “Then it'll either be right or left, but it's hardly ever forward.”

Misaki laughed at how much thought Saruhiko had actually put into all of this. Sure, the maze was _huge_ , but he doubted they'd actually get lost in it for long. “Saru relax, it's not even that hot outside and you're acting like you're going to die if you don't get out of here at soon as possible.”

“I might as well be dying while I'm under the sun.” He grumbled, flinching at just how _bright_ his skin was under direct sunlight. He was gonna get a definite tan if he didn't get out as soon as possible.

“You're worrying about all the wrong things again.” Misaki sighed, reluctantly pulling his hand all way from Saruhiko's grip, slowing down to a more normal-paced walk. “We’re here for _fun_ , not because I'm trying to torture you. So just… shut up and enjoy it, won't you?”

That shut Saruhiko up as he turned to look back towards Misaki, pouting while he slowed down to match Misaki's beat, barely resisting the temptation to hold onto his sleeve in case Misaki decided to dash off into a lane and allow them to separate.

But of course, Misaki was Misaki, so as soon as they hit a dead end he threw his hands up in exasperation and glared at Saruhiko. “I thought you knew how to get through these things?” He muttered, turning to stare at the wall of sunflowers in front of them.

“Weren’t you the one that said how to rush things?” Saruhiko countered, clicking his tongue in the process. “Let’s just turn back.”

“Uh. Yeah, okay.” Saruhiko raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, instead turning to go back the way they came. Once he made it to another trail, though, Misaki was literally nowhere to be seen.

“Misaki?” Saruhiko blinked, jogging towards the dead end. “Misaki!”

“Saru?” Misaki’s voice was heard somewhere nearby. “Where are you?”

“Shouldn’t _I_ be the one asking _you_ that?” Saruhiko muttered. “Hurry up and come back.”

There was more rustling, and then “Saru, where are you?”

“At the dead end, stupid.”

“But that’s where _I_ am!”

“Well obviously not, since I can’t see you.” Saruhiko grumbled.

Saruhiko heard a sigh from somewhere. “Let’s just hurry up and regroup.”

He clicked his tongue. “You know that’s easier said than done right? Mazes aren’t designed to have completely parallel lanes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Misaki sounded angry.

“It means it’s either impossible or it’ll take for-fucking-ever to find each other again!”

It was silent, as if Misaki was actually _thinking_ for once. “Or… I could cut through the sunflowers again and look for you that way….”

Saruhiko sighed. “Let’s not _ruin_ the maze for everyone now, stupid.”

“Fine, fine!” There was rustling. “I’m going to go find you.”

“How?” Saruhiko spat. “Am I just going to sit here and wait for _you_ of all people to find me?”

“You’re going to look for me too, idiot!” Misaki’s voice seemed far away, and Saruhiko automatically moved towards the direction of his voice.

"Misaki?" Saruhiko called out again. "Misaki!"

"Right here!" Miskai called out from somewhere, though he didn't know _where_ , really.

"Where are you _now_?" he sighed.

"... Somewhere?"

Saruhiko maneuvered around a large tourist group and kept jogging around. "Misaki!"

There was no reply, and after a moment he heard Misaki's voice from far away. "Yo, Saru! Do you think we should just meet at the end of the maze?"

"Do you even know _how_ to get through this maze?" Saruhiko glared at the wall of sunflowers in front of him.

"Of course not! But you don't either, right?" His voice seemed light. "Race you to the end!"

"Misaki, wait!" But Misaki was long gone, probably already heading towards the exit - or at least trying to.

"This is stupid", Saruhiko grumbled, turning to walk through a random path. He wasn't sure what part of the maze he was in anymore, so it didn't really matter if he tried to calculate which paths he had already gone on.

He found a trail that had red ribbons, but after remembering what the kid up front told him about the ribbons he decided against that path and kept on, wondering how in the world they even managed to grow enough sunflowers for this hell of a maze and why they even bothered to in the first place. After a couple more random turns he came across a yellow-ribbon path, and ignored that too, hoping that the next path with ribbons had blue ones on them.

To his dismay, however, he was met with red ribbons again, and it didn't take long for him to realize that one of these paths was a literal loop that connected some - if not all - of the other paths together somehow. After walking out of the loop and taking four more random turns, he finally found the blue ribbon and sighed in relief before fast-pacing towards exit.

"If that idiot's not there..."

He made it out and saw Misaki’s tuft of auburn hair, grinning at him victoriously as he held onto a sunflower that was almost as big as his face. “Ha I win!” Misaki laughed, running towards Saruhiko and tackling him. Saruhiko caught him in an awkward hug and glared down at the hair.

“Did you cheat your way out?” Saruhiko asked. Misaki shook his head before pulling back and grabbing Saruhiko’s hand with his own free one, dragging the grump to the attendant right outside the exit and grabbing a sunflower for him.

“Here you go!” Misaki gleamed; the sunflower was bigger than Misaki’s, proud and yellow and invoking a sense of warmth and happiness Saruhiko wasn’t sure how to handle. After a while of staring at it he looked back at Misaki and his sunny smile and felt his heart flutter at the sight.

 _Really...._ He didn't know what to do with the kid, honestly. 

"Okay, so now that we made it out we also get a free cup of sunflower tea, and they have cookies too!" Misaki blabbered on as he dragged Saruhiko away form the maze and towards a rickety looking building not too far from where they were.

He sighed. “Can't we just go home now, Misaki?”

His partner frowned. “Idiot, there’s still lots to do here!”


	5. Here Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saruhiko doesn't really understand why Misaki fusses over his diet so much.
> 
> (Inspired by a SaruMi RP I saw on Twitter recently)
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings** : None

Saruhiko honestly didn’t know what he did wrong this time.

The night before was just like any other night; he came home a little later than usual and barely picked at the dinner Misaki had made for him despite it being made _just for him_ and without the usual onslaught of vegetables that Misaki had grown so fond of putting on everything he cooked.

That time, though, Misaki had threatened to sleep on the couch if he didn’t finish all his food. He didn’t think Misaki would actually follow through with the threat, but in the end Misaki really did sleep on the couch that night –

But not before getting angry over something.

 _“Why don’t you care about your diet?”_ Misaki reprimanded him for the nth time since they’ve been together.

He shrugged. “ _I’m still alive, aren’t I?_ ”

However, it seemed that wasn’t the right answer to the question, because Misaki had visibly paled and his face hardened a split second later. “ _Are you even trying to live?_ ”

“ _We all die eventually, Misaki._ ” Saruhiko sighed. “ _It’s not like we can avoid that._ ”

Misaki fell silent and finished whatever he was doing before suddenly leaving the house, muttering something along the lines of being back soon after he bought a few things for the next day.

Somehow, the fact that Misaki returned two hours later soaking wet and with only two bags of groceries didn’t alarm him in the slightest. He watched Misaki down what looked to be one too many painkillers and flop onto the couch, leaving no room for him and no room for any small talk as he buried his face into the corner of the couch, covering his head with an arm and going to sleep right then and there. He was still soaking wet, too.

He knew Misaki was in pain – too many painkillers always left people with a slight headache or stomachache. Something else seemed to be on Misaki’s mind that night, though, and no matter how much he wanted to sit there and talk about it, he had instead left Misaki there for the night and went to bed in their room.

Which left Saruhiko with an empty apartment at six in the morning the next day. Misaki didn’t have work until nine, and judging by how messy the couch was he had tried to leave quickly for whatever reason.

It was annoying, all this avoiding from Misaki. What was the point of living together again and _being_ together if Misaki couldn’t so much as tell him what was wrong this time? His irritation must’ve shown just a little when he arrived at work an hour later; Akiyama gave him a concerned look the moment he stepped into the room, a small smile and greeting never making it onto his face as Saruhiko’s scowl ended up silencing the room.

Munakata walked in some time later to a completely silent room; ever since Saruhiko’s initial entrance the room had been drowned in some sort of tense atmosphere, broken only when Doumyouji would mutter a comment to Hidaka and they’d laugh for a second or two before the air became heavier.

“Hmm.” Munakata murmured, sweeping through the place with calculating eyes before falling on Saruhiko, much to his dismay. However, nothing was said and he simply walked out of the room with Awashima in tow, turning back only to give Akiyama a quick glance before disappearing into the hallway.

The atmosphere couldn’t get any more stifling.

Saruhiko didn’t understand what his Captain was up to, but with the way Akiyama kept sending him side-glances every few moments it was obvious that the other was tasked to do something about whatever’s wrong. He sighed and stood up abruptly, leaving the room and heading down into the cafeteria despite his lack of an appetite.

As he expected, Akiyama showed up moments later with a sheepish smile and a concerned glint in his eyes. Saruhiko clicked his tongue; really, why was all of this even happening in the first place?

“Fushimi-san.” Akiyama greeted him, sitting two chairs away from him. “Is –“

“Everything’s fine.” Saruhiko quipped, glaring down at the table.

“I understand that Yata-san is sick, but –“

Saruhiko’s head shot up. “Sick?”

Akiyama, taken aback by the sudden reaction, smiled sadly. “Kusanagi-san contacted our Captain about Yata-san's current condition and asked for me to tell you as soon as there was time available in case you haven't been contacted yet.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue again. Sure, it had been raining pretty hard yesterday but Misaki wasn’t ever the one to get himself sick so easily.

What had he been doing those two hours he was gone last night?

Obviously Saruhiko’s missing something again, and his anger spiked as he replayed last night over and over in his head, wondering where it all went wrong and what he could’ve done to prevent Misaki from getting sick.

 _I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?_ Saruhiko wondered to himself. It was like every other night. Typical bantering, typical him not eating much of his dinner…

“Akiyama.” Saruhiko turned his eyes to the other. He hated asking for advice but if he couldn’t find it, then of course someone else could. He explained last night in as little words as possible, clicking his tongue here and there when he remembered something unpleasant, and ended the story with a ‘stupid Misaki’ while glaring at the table yet again.

He caught Akiyama’s tentative smile from the corner of his eye. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” he started, “but it seems like Yata-san is afraid of something.”

“Of what?” Saruhiko drummed his fingers impatiently, running the scene over and over again in his head.

He could sense the tension in Akiyama’s voice as he voiced his own thoughts to him. “From what I understand, Yat-san has been taking very good care of you.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue. It was getting much too personal for his comfort. “So?”

“You left once already, and maybe once is enough, don’t you think?” Akiyama’s voice quieted down as he ended the thought.

_Are you even trying to live?_

_We all die eventually._

_You left once already._

The answer was still barely out of reach and he stood up again and walked out, leaving Akiyama and the rest of Scepter 4 for the day and heading home to where he hoped Misaki was, recovering from whatever illness he managed to catch in the last twenty-four hours.

He was there, dressed in a new pair of pajamas and curled against the couch again, a frown on his lips as he glanced up in Saruhiko’s direction.

_He’s afraid of something._

“Misaki…” He didn’t know what to say. He barely knew what was wrong, either. He had a hunch but with Misaki, anything was possible. He sat down on the arm of the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“None of your business.” Misaki grumbled, turning to bury his face in the cushion. “Not like you’d care.”

Saruhiko felt like yelling right then and there; Misaki was stubborn but he wasn’t quiet like he was now, even when he was running a high fever and visibly shivering. He clicked his tongue, shifting his position so that he sat on the couch properly, putting Misaki’s feet on his lap so he wouldn’t crush them. He stayed quiet, knowing that Misaki’s thoughts were running a mile a minute like it tended to do when he was nearby.

It took a good ten minutes before Misaki spoke again, in a voice so quiet and so lonely that Saruhiko’s heart began to ache just a little. “Would you be okay with this cold getting the better of me?”

He knew exactly what Misaki was alluding to, and it made his blood run cold at the idea of it. “No.”

“Then why,” Misaki’s voice was unsteady as he grasped for words, “do you think I’m okay with your shitty diet getting the better of you?”

Saruhiko sighed. He suspected it was something about that, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. “I’m alive right now – “

“And I am too.” Misaki interrupted. “But I could still die.”

“I could still die too, Misaki.” He answered without a second thought and immediately regretted it, feeling Misaki’s legs tense.

“Dammit, Saruhiko.” Misaki’s voice was breaking and Saruhiko could only blame either himself or the sickness for it. Or both, possibly. Misaki curled in on himself, removing his feet from Saruhiko’s lap in the process. “I’m trying so hard…”

_Yata has been taking very good care of you._

“I’m not going away anytime soon, Misaki.” Saruhiko murmured, looking at the floor. “I’m not going to leave you again.”

“… You say that like you’re actually trying to take care of yourself.” Misaki remarked, laughing hollowly.

“You know I’m not good at that.”

“You can still _try_ , Saruhiko.” Misaki turned his head to look at him. He couldn’t see Misaki’s eyes, but he could imagine the dullness of them. “What’s the point of us being together if you’re not planning on staying with me for as long as possible?”

Saruhiko huffed, unsure of what to say. “You’re getting a bit sentimental there, Misaki.”

“Is it wrong?”

“… I suppose not.” Saruhiko murmured, turning to look into those hazel eyes he’s loved since they were young and stupid. Misaki sat up and wound his arms around Saruhiko’s waist, burying his face in his shoulder as he held him tight. Misaki's body was hot from the fever but Saruhiko didn’t mind; Misaki was always twice as emotional when he was sick, and if he needed comfort then Saruhiko was going to give him all he could.

“So you’re going to take care of yourself properly from now on, right?” Misaki sniffled.

“I told you,” Saruhiko sighed, an amused smile playing on his lips as he kissed Misaki’s hair. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Misaki seemed to finally ease, a bubbly laugh escaping his mouth as he slowly returned to his normal, content self. _He needs to stay happy like this._ Saruhiko thought absentmindedly, making a mental note to himself as he rested his head on Misaki’s. _He’s changed… and I need to too._

“Hurry up and get some rest.” Saruhiko gently pushed Misaki down onto the couch. “I’m going to get sick too if you don’t get better soon.” Misaki whined a little but returned to his earlier curled position, this time with a content smile on his face rather than the frown from earlier.

“I love you.” Misaki murmured, settling into a comfortable position.

“That’s just the cold talking.” Saruhiko rolled his eyes. _But I love you too._

“Yeah, yeah,” Misaki laughed. “There’s food in the fridge. Eat.”

Saruhiko laughed, too; despite being the one that was on the couch with a fever, Misaki still made it a point to take care of Saruhiko in every way he could. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what are endings


	6. Carrot Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saruhiko's birthday and Misaki has a _tiny_ surprise for him. (unbeta'd)
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings:** None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some (gross/OOC) Sarumi fluff! I just wrote this real quick as a happy birthday fic, because it's Saruhiko's birthday today. xD I hope he enjoy's Misaki's (seemingly) random presents~  
> Excuse any errors, I literally wrote this in 40 minutes before skimming through it and saying 'fuck it' because a headache decided to kill me today

“Okay. Close your eyes and just… sit there for a minute, okay?”

Saruhiko was probably stupid for actually following his boyfriend’s instructions, but he was tired and it wasn’t like Misaki was going to do anything _too_ terrible to him, so he stuck to the other guy’s plan and shut his eyes obediently. Work was long and tedious today, and as much as he wanted to just go to bed right away he knew Misaki wouldn’t let him to that _today_ of all days.

“No peeking!” Misaki’s voice was a little far away as the sound of his footsteps slowly faded away towards the kitchen. “You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

“Captain had a dumb birthday celebration for me earlier.” Saruhiko replied, not really answering the question but Misaki got the meaning and he _ahh’d_ in reply, rummaging through drawers and opening the fridge while humming a tune that was much too familiar for his liking.

Misaki’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the living room, where Saruhiko had been lounging in since he got home. Some things were set on the coffee table and as much as he _wanted_ to peek, he felt that the look on Misaki’s face later on would be worth the amount of self-control he had to muster up for the few minutes that had just passed.

“Okay okay, wait.” Misaki tugged something onto Saruhiko’s head, surprising him but not causing him to open his eyes just yet. “Just a _little_ longer, Saruhiko, okay?”

“Hurry up, slowpoke.” He muttered in reply. He wasn’t irritated but he wanted to hurry up and see Misaki’s face, which was probably beaming all sorts of bright at the moment judging by the slight lilt in the other’s voice as they properly set up whatever was on the table.

“Okay, open your eyes!”

When Saruhiko did, the first thing he saw was Misaki’s grinning face, and he honestly didn’t want to tear his eyes away from those bright and beautiful eyes. He had to, though, in order to see what Misaki had prepared for him in such short notice, and he could only chuckle softly as he registered the small birthday cake sitting neatly on the table, with the words “Happy Birthday Saruhiko!” scrawled across it in Misaki’s messy handwriting and a surprisingly cute drawing of a monkey right at the end of the phrase. Next to it were two small plates and forks, and on its other side lay a box about the size of the TV remote, wrapped in shiny blue foil with a white ribbon to hold it all together.

“What is all this?” Saruhiko’s eyes trailed back to the only other person in the room. “It feels more like a Christmas occasion than a birthday surprise.”

Misaki blushed a little, his smile turning a little nervous. “Is it a bit much? I mean, this _is_ the first time we’re celebrating your birthday as a… you know…” he muttered something in the end.

“A what?” Saruhiko smiled, relishing in the sight of his flustered roommate and…

“A _couple_ …” Misaki’s cheeks turned a little pink as an awkward silence hung in the air for a good ten seconds. “Anyways! Try the cake first, the guys at the café said this might be the perfect cake for you!”

“You know I don’t like cake.” Saruhiko frowned but caught himself as he noticed Misaki’s smile begin to falter. “But I guess I’ll have some…”

“Sweet!” Misaki’s grin was back as he pulled out a knife from nowhere and cut six slices, putting a slice on each of the plates. “Don’t worry, I didn’t put too much cream on it, I think.”

“Yeah, okay…” Saruhiko eyed the cake carefully. Misaki loved to experiment with food nowadays, and one day he even managed to get Saruhiko to eat vegetables without realizing it, much to his dismay. He took a tentative bite and tasted it carefully, letting the flavor sit in his mouth before chewing and swallowing it properly. It was good – great, actually – and he ended up eating the rest of his slice before Misaki got halfway through his own slice.

“You like it, right?” Misaki wore a fond expression as he watched Saruhiko eat. “You totally do!”

“…” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, setting his plate on the coffee table before reaching up to pull off whatever Misaki had put on his head earlier.

It was soft, like a beanie, but it was a lot looser than one and it flopped on the back rather than hugged his head like Misaki’s beanies did. It was knit, too, and warm apparently considering the sudden cold he felt around his head.

“Your ears are always pink when you come home, so…” Misaki blushed again as he chewed through his last bit of cake and set the plate on the table. “I guess a hat would help protect them from the cold. It’s almost winter, anyways.”

Saruhiko’s heart swelled. He never cared for small things like that, but somehow Misaki always noticed them. He honestly didn’t know how or why Misaki stuck around him after all the years of conflict they went through, but he was suddenly glad that Misaki hadn’t actually given up on their friendship back then, because if he had, well…

They wouldn’t be _boyfriends_ now, would they?

Misaki moved to sit next to Saruhiko. “Open the present now!” He whispered excitedly, leaning a little onto Saruhiko. If Saruhiko had a choice, he’d rather pull Misaki into his arms and sit there with Misaki in his arms, but the other man wouldn’t be happy with that idea _just_ yet, so he just sighed and leaned forward to pick up the present, settling back onto the couch and eyeing it carefully like he did with the cake.  

“What is it?” Saruhiko asked absentmindedly, turning the box over in his hand. It was pretty small, and he couldn’t think of anything that would actually fit in the box.

“Open it and find out, stupid!” Misaki laughed, leaning fully onto him and watching Saruhiko mess with the box. Saruhiko sighed again and pulled at the ribbon, undoing it and pulling the top off right away.

He blinked a couple of times in surprise. Inside the box was a blue leather watch with his name engraved inside the clock’s face. It was slim and elegant, something that wasn’t like anything Misaki would think to get. There was even a small blue gem sitting at the ‘12’ position.

“It’s stupid having a watch when you have a PDA to look at the time,” Misaki’s voice betrayed a sort of shyness as Saruhiko continued to look at the watch. “but I dunno. Maybe it’d help you remember to come home on time more often, or something.”

 _He just wanted me home more often?_ Saruhiko thought to himself, looking at Misaki’s flushed face. Misaki looked up and locked eyes with Saruhiko, a mix of embarrassment and joy in his eyes as he smiled. “It’s a stupid thing, I know-”

Saruhiko suddenly leaned down and planted a kiss on Misaki’s lips, silencing him and letting the kiss do the rest of the talking as he set aside the watch and pulled Misaki into his arms, spoiling his lover with kisses as they settled onto his lap.

Saruhiko pulled away and pressed Misaki’s to his chest, drowning in the warmth of the other as they sat there in silence. “You’re such an idiot sometimes, Misaki.” He murmured, nuzzling Misaki’s hair and sighing contentedly. “Thank you.”

Misaki’s arms snaked around Saruhiko’s waist, giving him a small squeeze as he giggled into Saruhiko’s collarbone, sending a frenzy of feelings throughout his body. “You’re welcome, asshole. And happy birthday.”

It was quiet again save for their breathing, and he honestly didn’t want the moment to ever end. He loved Misaki, loved holding him like this, loved the warm, _loving_ feeling Misaki always gave him. He trailed a hand up and down Misaki’s spine absentmindedly as he lost himself in his own thoughts.

A few minutes later Misaki shifted a little, pulling his head back and looking up at Saruhiko with the same bright eyes he fell in love with all those years ago. “Do you want more cake or something?” he asked.

Saruhiko huffed. “It’ll be a waste if it’s not eaten now, I guess.” He glanced at the cake. “What kind of cake is it, anyways?”

Misaki laughed. “Carrot cake!” He smiled. “You like it though, right? I tried not to make it _too_ carrot-y, though.”

Saruhiko blinked. _Did he really make me a cake named after a vegetable?_

“Don’t give me that look, Saru!” Misaki frowned, punching his arm lightly. “You liked it!”

He sighed. “I can’t say I _didn’t_ like it.” He reached around Misaki and put a slice on his plate before picking it up and placing it on the couch.

Misaki reached towards it and ran a finger through the frosting before tapping Saruhiko’s nose with it. “Gotcha!” He smiled, laughing again when Saruhiko made an annoyed face. “Don’t be so grumpy, Saru!”

“I’m not.” He grumbled before running his own finger through the frosting and smearing it all over Misaki’s lips, making him gasp in surprise and pull away a little. Saruhiko smirked. “But I might as well clean up that mess on your face while we’re here.”

Misaki rolled his eyes. “Pervert.”

“You know you love me.”

“Ain’t gonna deny that.” Misaki shrugged before leaning back in with a mischievous look on his face. “Now c’mon birthday boy, hurry up and clean your mess so we can finish the cake.”


	7. Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fushimi's given an assignment from Munakata.
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Character Death**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd "Drabble"  
> Song used: [Nee by Clear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdminfaUWnc)  
> Story based off of [this guy](https://twitter.com/oregaYata) and [this guy](https://twitter.com/BroshimiSarubro) because we really like making each other cry. And a lot of the story doesn't make any sense because it's kinda heavily based on them, but I tried to sum everything up without going off about it too much.  
> Also I really apologize to the Munakata enthusiasts, I'm not too aware of his personality so I tried to fit him into what I remembered from the anime (which isn't much).

* * *

_Hey, I'm sorry for calling you so late_

_Hey, I have something I want to tell you_

* * *

 

The room was warm from the sunlight that filtered through the windows of the room he was currently working in. Paperwork was piled high beside him, waiting to be viewed and reviewed like usual. However, there was one file set aside for another moment, another day -

Another _lifetime_ , he hoped.

It was a small, dark red file; only a few stapled sets of paper was stuffed neatly in it but the information it contained was something he couldn’t bear to bring himself to look at just yet. It had been set aside for three days already. Fushimi carried that file everywhere like a lifeline to something - some _one_ \- but he never opened it, never tried to peek through and see the profile that was waiting to be ‘investigated’.

For whatever reason, Munakata never pried with this case despite the high priority it was given. He even told Fushimi to _take his time_ , to _make sure you look at it thoroughly_ , as if he didn’t already know every single detail that was written in the case file since day one.

Hell, with the quickly increasing efficiency of Fushimi’s work it was actually getting increasingly harder for him to stay the full eight hours that was required of him. He knows he could just go ahead and use some of that time to close _that_ case once and for all, but something nagged at the back of his mind like an itch that would never go away. Something felt missing somehow, like even _if_ he tried to complete the report and file the folder away, it wouldn’t really be _done_.

It was nearing three in the afternoon when the pile of work was yet again reduced to nothing. Fushimi sighed in irritation; he _needed_ something to do, to keep his hands and his mind as busy as possible before _those_ thoughts drifted into his mind once again. He stood and picked up the folder, careful to keep it clamped shut as he picked up his tablet and headed towards the Captain’s room to deliver the completed reports.

He knocked once, twice before letting himself in, knowing that Munakata was more than likely putting puzzles together once again as if _that_ was his actual job and he wasn’t supposed to be running an entire government organization. Fushimi cleared his throat and began his monotone speech; he honestly couldn’t care less if Munakata was actually listening to him as he put more and more pieces of his current jigsaw puzzle together on his desk.

“... and that concludes today’s reports.” Fushimi muttered, clicking his tongue before turning to leave.

“Fushimi.” Munakata called out to him in an almost authoritative voice.

He turned around, sighing heavily. “Yes?”

“... have you ever played the piano?” Munakata raised his head to look at Fushimi, his expression firm yet somehow concerned.

“Why?” Fushimi didn’t want to answer the question, let alone remember the times _he_ went ahead and punished him for every miniscule error he committed while he was forced to learn it. The sight of pianos left a sour taste in his mouth every time, much like how Totsuka’s guitar made had him feel the last few times he had heard him play.

Munakata pulled out a file from seemingly out of nowhere and Fushimi resisted the urge to groan. He knew it was more work, and even if he _wanted_ the extra time off from his mind he still didn’t necessarily _like_ working. “I’d like for you to learn this piece,” he said while putting the folder on his desk and pushing it towards Fushimi, “as a way to complete the required hours.”

“... do I have to?” Fushimi glared at the folder. He didn’t want anything to do with a piano. Ever again.

“I do believe it’s a necessary thing to do.” Munakata finally smiled. “Your new PDA has been delivered to your dorm as well.”

 _Right._ Fushimi frowned, picking up the new folder. He forgot he threw his PDA away a few days ago during a small tantrum of his -

He shut down that thought immediately; he didn’t need to remember that or what happened prior.

“The keys to the music room has also been delivered to your room as well; I’d like for you to start tomorrow.” Munakata looked down towards his puzzle, placing yet another piece in its rightful place.

Fushimi walked out before Munakata could say anything else. Seriously? A piano piece? Was it possible for him to get out of this assignment without having to explain to the other man about his past issues with them?

 _Probably not,_ Fushimi thought darkly and sighed. He began to walk, opening the file and skimming over the piece; it was a relatively easy one, and judging by the actual amount of notes in the song he’d learn this in a day or two most likely. What he _really_ wanted to know was _why_ this was assigned to him. Was there a party and were they missing a pianist? A funeral, perhaps? How the hell did Munakata even _know_ of Fushimi’s playing skills in the first place?

He clicked his tongue; there was no getting out of this if Munakata was the one making the request. Anything seemed better than completing _that_ , anyways….

 

* * *

_Hey, I wonder if you still remember_

_You've always listened to my stories  no matter how trivial they may be_

* * *

 

Fushimi noticed his co-workers were growing increasingly nervous around him but he paid no mind as his mind drifted to the song again and again that day. Another five days have passed and he’s pretty much memorized the entire piece despite not knowing what song it was or where it was from.

He looked at his PDA and frowned at the message. It was Hidaka again, asking if he wanted to join the rest of the crew for bowling later that evening. He closed the message and pulled up his inbox, a weird pain shooting through his entire body when he realized that a certain contact’s conversation wasn’t there.

 _Right,_ he reminded himself, mentally kicking his brain for being such an idiot. _This is a new PDA._

He sighed and began flicking the screen, watching the menu icons change and spin around to reveal the other menu’s icons. It was three in the afternoon again and he had nothing left to do save for messing around with the piano again.

Munakata had already picked up on Fushimi’s schedule and dropped by two minutes after he lost himself in the song playing in his mind. “Fushimi.”

He looked up, a bored expression clear across his face. “Yes, Captain?”

“How is it going?” He strode over to where Fushimi sat, sitting across the table from him.

“I already memorized it.” He turned back to his PDA, flicking it a little faster.

“Is that so.” Fushimi could hear the smile in Munakata’s voice. “Have you tried putting your own feelings into the piece?”

Fushimi tried not to glare. “Why should I?”

“What does the song feel like to you?” Fushimi could literally feel all the stares he was getting from both Munakata and the rest of the Scepter 4 personnel that were currently off patrol duty. He pulled the red file closer to himself on instinct, though he didn’t really understand _why_ he even felt the need to do that. It wasn’t really _his_ file, anyways.

“Do I have to answer that?” Fushimi asked after a few seconds of silence, opening up his message inbox once again before closing it immediately. _Why can’t I just uninstall this app?_

“Not necessarily. Your heart will answer that eventually.” Munakata pulled a piece of paper from somewhere in his coat and placed it on top of the red file before standing up. “This might help you open up a little, though.”

When Munakata stood and walked out of the room all eyes were suddenly on the paper rather than on Fushimi. He didn’t want to open the paper and figure out what was written on it, knowing that it’d just confuse him even more somehow. His Captain was often like that; it was always either extremely direct or extremely vague when it came to him.

But Fushimi opened it anyways, because if he wasn’t going to do it now then someone else probably would without his permission. He slowly unfolded the piece of paper and sighed, not knowing what to think of it.

Though for whatever reason, Fushimi found himself to be _glad_ when he realized it wasn’t in _his_ messy handwriting.

 

* * *

_Remembering  your gentle smile, I closed my eyes_

_But I couldn't sleep at all, so I looked up at the starry sky_

_If we had never met - it wouldn't have been this painful_

* * *

 

He was beginning to hate the song.

He played and played it, aware of the _anger_ that was seeping through every keystroke. Two hours a day for this song was definitely some sick joke that was being played on him - it was too easy for someone like him, and too easy to arrange and rearrange into something apologetic like he honestly felt it sounded.

Another play through the piece showed him how angry he was at something, though he couldn’t place his finger on _who_ or _what_ it was. Another reason why he hated pianos: it was too easy to pour your feelings out onto it and have the entire world hear your emotions. He didn’t even want to know what he was feeling _himself_ , let alone anyyone else.

The red file sat behind the sheet music, still clamped shut and still staring back at him as if it were somehow disappointed in him.

 _So what?_ He grit his teeth. _Like anything I can do about it_ now _._

He heard the door open and didn’t bother turning to look at the intruder. This was the first time anyone’s ever visited him when he was on his own in the music room, and judging by the heavy footsteps it was just his captain around to bug him - again.

“How is it?” Munakata asked as if he hadn’t been asking about it almost every day for the past two weeks in the conference room.

“Fine.” Fushimi sighed, impatiently tapping random keys. He didn’t want to deal with Munakata - or anyone else, for that matter. He was told to play a piano piece and he did. That’s all the request was, wasn’t it? Why did Munakata need to know how it went every damn day?

And why was Munakata looking like he _pitied_ Fushimi right at that very moment?

Munakata walked over to the CD player that sat by the piano and stood there for a moment before speaking. “Fushimi, how’s the case file?”

He tensed; Munakata hadn’t asked him about that at all until now. “Fine.” He lied despite knowing how easy it would be for Munakata to pick up on it.

“It’s still stapled shut.” Munakata remarked, as if reading his mind. “Is something wrong?”

 _Everything._ “Nothing.”

Munakata sighed, barely audible but there all the same. “Would you like to put this assignment to a close?”

“Yes, sir.” Fushimi just wanted to get out of there, to never look at the damn piano and the disappointed-looking red file that sat in front of him. His heart was aching again and an image of an empty message inbox bombarded his mind, sending wave after wave of pain that he couldn’t bring himself to fully understand.

The paper lay in his pocket, never having been opened a second time.

“Then play the song one more time.” Fushimi heard Munakata click a few buttons on the CD player and insert something into it, but didn’t play whatever it was just yet.

Fushimi started tapping the right keys before Munakata sighed again, pausing and resetting whatever was supposed to play. His irritation spiked at the small sound - was he not doing it right? That was exactly what the sheet music said to play!

“Fushimi, you memorized the piece, am I correct?” Munakata’s voice betrayed no emotion.

“Yes.” Fushimi stopped playing. “Why?”

“You can play without looking at the keys, am I correct?”

“Yes.” Dread began to hang over Fushimi. Something was about to happen, and judging from the sound of it he isn’t going to enjoy it one bit.

A moment passed between them before Munakata dropped a bomb on Fushimi. “Then please play with your case file open.”

Fushimi froze. Of all things he expected his captain to say, not once did he think to consider what he would ask Fushimi to do with the red file. He wanted to ask why, to turn and punch and yell at him for making him do this , but that was childish and he couldn’t do that _again_ , not after _that_ happened the last time he did.

“This is an order, Fushimi.” Munakata’s voice was firmer, even more so than usual. It felt like Munakata was twisting a knife through Fushimi’s heart, and he wanted to beg the other to just hurry up and _kill_ him, to end this nonsensical pain and let him die. He still couldn’t bear to see the face in the profile, not without wave after wave of unbearable pain coursing through every inch of his body.

“Did you ever look at the contents of your old PDA?” Munakata asked suddenly, not even looking at the other. There was something sad in his tone of voice.

“No.”

“Hmm. Well, this will be the last time you’ll need to play the song, Fushimi.” Munakata said, hitting another button on the player. “But do not, _under any circumstances_ , stop playing until it is over. I will leave the room, but I expect you to complete this task without any issue.”

“Until what’s over?” Fushimi growled, desperately trying to smother the ache in his heart.

“The song.” Munakata smiled at Fushimi before walking up to the unopened file. He was the one to unstaple it and leave the profile out in front of the sheet music, setting it up so that no matter where Fushimi tried to look it would still be in his field of vision.

Fushimi wanted to kill Munakata for being so direct with this case all of a sudden; didn’t he say to take his time? What ever happened to _that?_ He stared helplessly at the keys, willing himself to overlook the smile that was paper clipped to the folder.

He didn’t understand what was going on.

What was in the CD player?

Why did he need the file to be open?

Why did he have to memorize this song?

“Play.” Munakata said, watching closely as Fushimi closed his eyes and began playing the piece by memory. After playing a note Fushimi heard Munakata click a button on the player and walk out, his boots thumping loudly against the tile floor. It was deafening in his ears, like thunder on a stormy night. Something unpleasant was going to play, be _knew_ it -

 

* * *

_I can remember all the times I laughed and cried_

_As if it only happened yesterday_

_No matter what anyone tells me_

_This will still be my very own treasure_

* * *

 

The piece was angry at first, as if it were yelling and kicking and punching something invisible to the naked eye. Fushimi didn’t want to hear the recording that was playing, didn’t allow himself to _feel_ the emotions that were in every syllable that was uttered at him.

He could feel his walls breaking as he opened his eyes and glued them to the smiling face in front of him. There were three pictures including the one of the profile, and each of them held a brightly smiling face that he remembered seeing with his own two eyes as if it were just yesterday.

He couldn’t bear to remember angrily storming out of the room, never looking back at the figure left behind on the bed. He couldn’t bear to remember the hollow laugh and the trapped tears in their eyes as they turned away from Fushimi and uttered words and phrases he couldn’t hope to ever understand.

His notes slowly became softer as the walls completely shattered, leaving behind nothing but dust and an onslaught of memories he had buried so far in the back of his mind that he was almost sure he actually forgot about them.

He couldn’t understand what happened. Yata had wanted them to be happy and healthy. To eat three meals a day and just _live_. He remembered making a comment about everyone dying eventually and that it was useless to even try, and then….

… when he turned to Yata after a moment of silence, the one bright and hopeful hazel eyes just looked so _dull_ and _defeated_ that even Fushimi himself started to feel sad all of a sudden. Yata had yelled at him like usual, and he had yelled back _like usual_ , but the warm, warm bed was so, so _cold_ the day after, because Yata was _gone_ all of a sudden and he found that not only was the bed cold, but everything else had suddenly felt cold.

He remembered hearing about Yata finding a place to stay by a beach so that he could supposedly calm down and figure out his next steps. Then Fushimi came and visited… and he tried to take Yata back to Shizume City but it had proved useless and then….

He grit his teeth and shut down the memory. He knew Yata had a problem with people staying with him. He knew Yata had always felt left out and always felt useless. Then Yata found HOMRA and lost Fushimi before he permanently lost Suoh and Totsuka. _Of course_ Yata was going to have wounds that even Fushimi couldn’t reach and help to heal, but Fushimi had become content with how it was between the two of them and he never realized that he was cutting his own scar into Yata the same way Suoh and Tatara and all those years of loneliness did.

Yata had finally snapped and Fushimi didn’t know what to do about it. He wanted Yata back so he went to visit him during his small ‘vacation’, but somehow things went to shit and Yata had stopped eating entirely in an attempt to commit suicide.

He got his second chance with Yata after a few days in the hospital. He finally got Yata to smile and to show him some form of affection. He finally got Yata to see the tiny light at the end of the tunnel. He finally saw the light in his eyes return.

But then he messed up again, because he became content with having Yata depend on antidepressants even though it wasn’t going to be easy to ease him off of that. Yata _knew_ all of that and knew that things would get harder once he really did depend on them. He was about to give up again because he didn’t want Fushimi to hurt anymore -

Then Fushimi got mad and wouldn’t even let Yata finish his own sentences, wouldn’t sit and listen to Yata. He wouldn’t give Yata a few seconds to explain anything, to let Fushimi understand what Yata was feeling and why he needed to be away from Fushimi.

And then… and then he gave up right then and there. The day they were supposed to get results from the psychiatrist about getting admitted into a psychiatric hospital, Fushimi just _gave up_ on him. Because he didn’t want to hear any more of Yata’s excuses, didn’t want to hear just how much Yata’s suffered from all of this.

He had forgotten his PDA in the hospital room when he left and retrieved it from Munakata the day after, to which he promptly shoved into a trashcan because there were too many memories in it. All the photos, all the videos, the games, the messages…

The only _good_ thing that came out of the entire situation was the fact that Yata was able to let go peacefully in the comfort of the pillow and blanket he and Yata had shared at home.

 

* * *

  _Let our feelings connect, forever and ever_

_So that you won't disappear to somewhere_

_If you would smile at me again_

_I'm sure that's all I need_  


* * *

  

Regret and sorrow flowed through every note like ocean waves rolling up onto a beach. The anger dissipated like water evaporating in the sun. Fushimi didn’t dare take his eyes off of the smiling faces in front of him as he let his own tears fall and drip onto the keys.

He read every letter on the paper, memorizing things he had already memorized years and years ago. His heart ached as he read the red ink, unable to fully accept the word that was stamped across the top of the paper. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at the last paragraph on the paper.

“Hold my hand; hold me,” the voice sang, filling Fushimi with such an overwhelming sense of grief that he choked as they both neared the end of the piece.

He wanted to hate this song again, wanted to forget it and never listen to it again. He wanted to forget the voice that sang along to the piano. He wanted the notes to stay _angry_ like before.

He didn’t want to feel the sorrow that was in the voice and in his own notes. He didn’t want to feel the sadness and regret that was piling up on Fushimi like weights he couldn’t shake off. He wanted to stop the tears from falling more than they already did.

He wanted to stop remembering the patient at the hospital and wanted to stop all the memories they shared together from falling back into place in his timeline. There was too much _pain_ and he couldn’t deal with it anymore.

He didn’t want to remember how he _walked out_ on them the same day they died.

The song replayed and Fushimi didn’t bother to play along this time. His arms dropped to his sides as he stared at Yata’s bright, cheeky smile staring back at him from the stand. He was _way_ too happy in the photo, and Fushimi knew exactly what made his eyes so bright and so warm and he _hated_ himself for being the reason why those same eyes will never see the light of day again.

He wasn’t even the one to see Yata off when they had signed the paperwork allowing the use of euthanasia in his sleep. He wasn’t the one that tried to comfort Yata and change his mind about being worthless despite Yata being worth _everything_ to him and to HOMRA. He wasn’t the one that got to see Yata’s smile or hear Yata sing to him again.

The last person to see him was the same person that had tasked him with this godforsaken assignment. The person that he _knew_ Yata wouldn’t normally want to see at all. Of all people, it was Munakata to saw him off and saw Yata sign those papers. He wanted to hate Munakata for not stopping Yata, but knew it was pointless; Munakata had no say in Yata’s decision despite everything. He had no power over the situation just like Fushimi thought he didn’t.

Fushimi didn’t recall a single regret in his life except for this one.

If he’d only listened to Yata for once instead of pick a fight with him. If he’d only fought harder for the one thing left in the world that meant _something_ to him. If he’d only let himself _love_ for once…

Then maybe Yata would’ve been there still, waiting for him to come home with the goofiest, most adoring smile on his face like he always did.

 

* * *

  _Hey_

_Thank you, and I'm sorry_

_Goodnight..._

* * *

 

  



	8. Good Morning | Sing-Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a warm, warm morning and Saruhiko's letting it get to him. | Saruhiko just wants to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm suuuuuuper slowly working on two stories I might not finish (please give me strength) so yeah. Anyways, here's two really short drabbles 
> 
> These have no connections to each other, but it's funny to think they do anyways.

The smell of coffee drifted around the small apartment as Saruhiko pours some into a mug. It was the start of yet another week of work; birds were cheerily chirping outside their window and the sun’s rays poured in, lighting up the small living area with a glow that seemed to warm up the entire room. There weren’t a lot of days where he could just sit and relax in the sun without needing to do any work at home or have the television tuned into some crime scene drama complete with the sounds of bullets and crashing who-knows-what. He took a small sip of the black coffee before grimacing and putting some creamer in it.

Saruhiko especially didn’t want to leave _him_ alone. He was still sleeping soundly in their shared bedroom, most likely completely wrapped up in their blanket now and snoring softly. This morning felt like a special one somehow, and Saruhiko had half a mind to wake up Misaki and let him appreciate it too.

He didn’t really need to, it seemed, because as soon as he sat down on the bed and set his mug down Misaki stirred, rolling over to face him and slowly sitting up. Saruhiko said nothing and let Misaki slowly wake up, and as soon as Misaki had adjusted to the light pouring through their bedroom window he looked right at Saruhiko and smiled sleepily.

“Mornin’” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

And Saruhiko just stared.

It was honestly one of the most innocent looks Misaki has ever given him in the two years they had been living like this together. He’s never seen Misaki smile like that before, and he didn’t know what came over him when he suddenly leaned forward and pecked Misaki on the lips, changing his face from a sleepy smile to a look of confusion.

“You smell like coffee.” Misaki mumbled before pulling Saruhiko down and straddling him. Saruhiko froze in shock; despite having been together for two years they’ve never actually gone as far as kissing. He was always busy and Misaki was always out making a name for himself in the skating world. It felt like they could never have time together – weekends were often packed with events or extra work, and Misaki struggled with remembering to make dinner sometimes because he was so caught up in either his part-time job or practicing. Bedtime consisted of them sleeping on the same bed to save space, but it never went anywhere farther than that.

That’s why Misaki suddenly sitting on him surprised him so much. He had his hands on Saruhiko’s cheeks, a gesture that hold him it was safe and Misaki was trying to be as gentle as he could.

It took him a few seconds to realize he was no longer that blushing virgin he had met so long ago in middle school. He was older and had matured now, and something like kissing wasn’t something he was even slightly afraid of now.

It was their first kiss together, and suddenly the warm morning all made sense. Even Misaki was caught up in it, his auburn hair practically glowed in the morning light and Saruhiko was having a hard time not touching it.

Misaki pulled away enough to look him in the eyes before looking away. His cheeks were red from the sudden action and he mumbled a small “sorry” before looking back at him again. “I just… got excited,” he murmured, “we haven’t… done anything as a… you know… _couple_.”

“Yeah.” Saruhiko breathed, watching the way the light got caught in his eyes. He had no words to say, no knowledge of how to properly convey the warmth he was feeling in his heart without making a fool of himself. He wasn’t sure what triggered his mood to be so relaxed; was it the coffee? The sun? The birds, maybe?

He took his phone from the nightstand and sent a quick message before tossing it back. Whatever was happening today, he didn’t want to leave it.

Misaki looked at him questioningly. “You’re not working?”

Saruhiko simply shook his head. He must be having some sort of fever or something to be _this_ calm and relaxed, but whatever it was, he wanted more of it.

Misaki sighed and tried to give him a look of exasperation, but his smile took the bite out of the notion and Saruhiko leaned up to peck his lips again, causing the other to make a small, surprised squeak. He laughed as much as he could before Misaki glared at him and began to pout, looking away and mumbling something about why Saruhiko was suddenly in such a good mood.

“I can go to work if you don’t like it.” Saruhiko said, sitting up so Misaki sat on his lap. Misaki rested his forehead on Saruhiko’s shoulder, saying something he could hear because his voice was muffled.

Misaki continued talking when he lifted his head up to speak directly to his face. “I’ve wondered what it’d feel like to be like this…”

And so did Saruhiko. They had nobody to blame but themselves for not making time for each other all these years, but it was going to change starting today. He just knew it.

“and besides…” Misaki smiled. “Who knew _you’d_ be the first one to give the… k-kiss…”

Flustered, Misaki looked down to hide his face while Saruhiko looked away in embarrassment. “Sorry.” He spoke quietly and with a sincerity that made Misaki look back up at him in surprise.

“For what?” He asked. “Nothing’s your fault, Saruhiko.”

“I kissed you.” He said, looking anywhere but at Misaki.

He sighed. “And if you hadn’t we wouldn’t be here right now doing this, now would we?”

“Yeah.” Saruhiko wasn’t really thinking clearly, not with Misaki mere centimeters away and vulnerable to whatever he wanted to do.

But he decided to take things slow and let Misaki decide what to do.

It was their anniversary, after all.

 

* * *

  

“Misaki, _no_.”

“Yata _yes!_ ”

“Misaki, get off of the damn table!”

As if Fushimi wasn’t already annoyed by his current workload and having to stay in a couple hours later than usual.

Now his roommate’s unexplainably drunk and lying on the dining table, singing whatever children’s song floats into his mind at any given second.

So far in his ten minutes of being home, he’s heard about twelve different songs, all of which were sung terribly. It didn’t matter if Yata even finished the song – he’d just jump into the next one without a second thought. Fushimi _did_ consider recording the whole ordeal and using it as blackmail, but he was much too annoyed to as much as stay in the same room as him.

Too bad Yata’s voice easily carried around the whole place.

“Misaki, I will _hurt_ you if you keep singing.” Fushimi grumbled, knowing it would land on deaf ears. It was bad enough he had some take-home assignments to do, so having a hyperactive twenty-something year old singing the ABCs and 123s wasn’t a great thing to come home to.

Seriously.

“Saru you old fart, come sing with me!” Yata laughed, turning to look at him before letting his head slam onto the table loudly. Fushimi almost flinched at the thought of how much that must’ve hurt.

He didn’t answer, which somehow translated as a “no” in Yata’s head, and he sat up on the table glaring stupidly. “C’mon!”

“No.” He said, hoping the other would finally get it.

“Yes!”

“No.” Fushimi sighed and whispered a small “idiot”, which somehow managed to reach Yata’s ears.

Offended, Yata huffed and crossed his arms, looking like an angry puppy that somehow lost its toy and thinks Fushimi had it. “Wooow then. Fuck off with your cute fucking self then.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Cute?”

“Shut up!” Yata turned away and glared at a plate. “You’re adorable shut up.”

“I’m not.” Fushimi’s eye twitched. What the hell was going on?

“Shut up you’re adorable!” Yata turned a full 180 degrees from Fushimi and starting muttering something about going on the sofa and watching TV for a while.

Fushimi pinched the bridge of his nose and took a granola bar from the pantry he was conveniently standing by, as well as his work files, to his bedroom. He vaguely remembered Yata mentioning some sort of party the other day, but he honestly didn’t think Yata would actually drink – let alone drink enough to act like a child.

How did he get home anyways?

He sat at his desk and opened the first assignment, groaning quietly when Yata started yelling about a farm and spelling out the word bingo. The TV had been turned on, and he vaguely recognized the voices of a crime show Yata had been obsessed about. As to why he was singing _and_ watching a crime show drama series, Fushimi would never know.

It was going to be a long night.


	9. [R18] Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [R18] Fushimi's afraid, and Yata wants to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally my first time writing something R-rated. Please forgive me.
> 
> Un-beta'd! I just quickly wrote this at work out of boredom. Needed to get my creative juices flowing but it went a completely different direction than originally intended.

Yata twirled his enemy’s knife in his hand effortlessly. His boot dug into the other’s throat, just enough to let them breathe with great difficulty. He couldn’t kill him just yet - he needed answers, and he needed them now.

“Look.” He scowled, pushing his heel into the soft flesh to make sure they were listening. “I just need one thing from you.”

The familiar face that was lying flat on the ground simply glared at him, their broken glasses providing no practical use.

“You were never much of a talker.” Yata clicked his tongue and lifted his foot. The other man shot up instantly, gasping for air. After a moment Yata sighed and helped the other up. “You fucking suck at fighting without your glasses.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Fushimi continued to glare at him. “That’s why I don’t fight close combat.”

“You should still be prepared.” Yata punched Fushimi’s shoulder lightly, offering him a smile. “I’ll give you points for lasting longer than last time though.”

They had been sparring in the dim light of the moon. War was likely to break out soon between the United Front and the Green Nation, and Yata had offered to help their best operations man some practice on the field - without his glasses. Fushimi was practically excellent at everything. He had perfect aim and could easily hit his mark with almost any weapon. Without his glasses, however, he was severely crippled, which led to the Embassy’s decision to keep Fushimi away from the battlefield.

Yata, however, wasn’t so lucky. He was one of the Red Nation’s Platoon Sergeants, which required him to have his feet on enemy soil, commanding troops to victory. Fushimi had tried to convince them to change plans and keep Yata in a safer place, but was immediately overruled by the majority.

“The moon’s pretty tonight.” Yata said, staring up at the sky.

Fushimi followed his gaze, humming in agreement.

“It won’t be the last one, too, y’know.” It was a full moon, illuminating everything around him. When he looked back to Fushimi, he couldn’t help but stare at his facial features. The frames he wore for the practice led his eyes to Fushimi’s, and Yata didn’t notice he had been caught until his lips suddenly met the other’s.

They kissed for a long time. Yata’s arms wound around Fushimi’s neck and pulled him close. Fushimi’s was wrapped around Yata’s waist, and if Yata wasn’t so engrossed in their kiss he’d have commented on how Fushimi’s arms were shaking slightly. When their lips parted, Fushimi rested his forehead on Yata’s. “Don’t fucking die out there.”

“Like hell I will.” Yata laughed. “Who else is going to take care of your skinny ass?”

Fushimi was quiet for a moment. “Just promise me.”

“Are you scared?” Yata murmured, placing a hand on Fushimi’s cheek.

“No.” Fushimi was lying, obviously, but Yata let him. They’d been together since they were children on the street, orphaned during an attack that instigated the United Nations’ Peace Treaty. Fifteen years later, however, the Green Nation has decided to break the treaty and waged war on the Blue and Red Nations, which pulled the remaining nations into the battle as well.

“I’m not going anywhere, Saru.” Yata kissed him again. “I mean, I’m gonna go fight and all, but you have my back, right? I’ll be alright - we’ll win.”

Fushimi sighed and pulled Yata in closer.

“We gotta be at the top of the world still, remember?” Yata continued to comfort Fushimi, fully aware that his words were not reaching the other. “I mean we’re having the time of our lives, now, I think… but it’d be night to… you know. Settle. And I can’t settle without you. And you won’t let me die anyways, right? So there.”

“You didn’t promise.”

Yata sighed, smiling a little. “I promise I’ll come back alive.”

“You fucking better.” Fushimi leaned in for another kiss, but this time it was desperate - desperate for confirmation, for Yata’s words to be real. Yata returned the kiss, eager to please and assure his lover. When they finally needed to let go to breathe, Yata snuck Fushimi’s real glasses back on and smiled. “Is that enough?”

“You know that’s never enough.” Fushimi mumbled, looking away awkwardly.

Yata laughed and stepped away before taking Fushimi’s hand. “How about we head back now and help you feel better,

then?”

Fushimi looked at him and nodded, hiding his eyes behind the hair that had fallen in front of his face. Yata couldn’t help but smile as he tugged the other back to their shared room. It was a long and quiet walk; Yata took comfort in their steady footsteps and the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew through the forest. They were still far from the front lines, but soon they’d have to part ways, and to be frank - Yata was terrified of being apart from him. 

It wasn’t just Fushimi he was comforting.

“Come on.” Yata pushed Fushimi into their room as soon as they made it. Yata barely had time to lock the door before Fushimi had him pressed onto, pinning him in place while nipping Yata’s nape. Yata sighed, chuckling as he easily pushed Fushimi off and onto the bed. He threw their hats onto the floor as Yata straddled him, taking in the sight of Fushimi’s flushed face and the dirty, ruffled uniform. He leaned down for a kiss, letting Fushimi unbutton his uniform and get the vest and jacket off in one go. Yata shivered with delight as Saru ran his fingers across his bare skin, resisting the urge to moan. 

He began to unbutton Fushimi’s uniform lifting his ass off of Fushimi just enough so it’d barely touch the the other’s bulge. While Yata was busy undressing them, Fushimi let his hands wander to Yata’s chest and back down to rest on his hips. It was driving Yata crazy and Fushimi knew it very well - Yata had quickened his pace and it wasn’t very long before he had the both of them completely naked, but he still kept a distance from Fushimi’s now hard cock. 

“What’s the plan?” Yata murmured, leaning down for a kiss. 

“We fuck, obviously.” Fushimi frowned.

Yata rolled his eyes. “Well no shit, but like…” He shrugged. “What do you want to happen?”

Fushimi tightened his hold on Yata’s hips and pulled him down gently, letting their cock rub against each other. Yata couldn’t help but moan then, immediately understanding what Fushimi wanted. 

“At least get me ready.” He breathed, reaching over Fushimi’s head for a bottle of lubricant that they kept by the bed. It was awkward having to do this part of the routing, but he’s rather stick a few fingers up his ass first then go in completely unprepared. He squeezed some of it onto his fingers and spread it around, watching Fushimi from between his fingers. He knew he had just told Fushimi to do this part, but he didn’t want to give him complete control of the night - so he turned around and steadily slid a finger into his waiting asshole, making sure to give Fushimi a great view as he quickly worked himself up. He stifled a gasp as he added another slick finger, slowing his pace as his body got used to the intrusion. It started to feel  _ very  _ good, but it still wasn’t enough for either of them. Fushimi groaned impatiently and took Yata’s hand, forcing him to add a third finger and slowly, yet at the same time quickly, forcing Yata to finger himself.

Yata assumed it was because he was getting needy himself that it was starting to get easier. 

He leaned back down and let his ass eagerly rub Fushimi’s dick, denying it entrance every time it got close enough. He loved the desperate noises Fushimi made when it almost hit home, and it wasn’t until Fushimi had flipped them over he was face-first onto the bed that he finally let the other have his way.

Fushimi had one hand on Yata’s throat, pinning him down as he forced Yata to raise his ass. It always somehow ended up like this - Fushimi would want one thing but would quickly hit his limit and yank Yata under him to fuck him senseless.

Yata honestly loved how quickly Fushimi got desperate to fuck him. Their time in the military wouldn’t let them play for long since they barely got sleep in normal days, so something like foreplay wasn’t something they’d really do.

Maybe when the war was over and they finally got to settle -  _ then _ they could experience it all.

But for now Yata had the sheets in-between his teeth in an attempt to muffle his voice as Fushimi shoved his cock in his still-tight hole. He only stayed hilt-deep for a minute before pulling away and slamming it back in, quickly finding a rhythm and pulling back Yata’s head by the hair so he could see his lover’s face as he fucked him senselessly. 

They were hungry for each other - they’re always hungry for each other. It wasn’t long until Fushimi reached his limit, but before he could push himself over he pulled out, breathing heavily as he flipped Yata over and forced him to sit up, kissing him as he struggled not to jerk himself off. “Fuck, Misaki.” He breathed, taking Yata’s dick in his hand and pumping it hard and fast. Yata was quickly reaching his limit, too, taking Fushimi’s dick and joining him in jerking each other off. He bit Fushimi’s shoulder hard as he finally came, the desire to make Fushimi feel the same ecstasy driving him as he continued to pump Fushimi.

His energy was quickly draining, though, so Fushimi gave him a hand and helped send him over the edge, his body tensing as his load joined Yata’s on their hands. 

They sat against each other, breathing hard as they slowly fell from their high. Yata was kind of sorry it had to be only a quickie that night, but the thought of what came after the war filled him with more determination to get it over with.

“The morning bell is in a few hours.” Fushimi murmured, pulling away and looking at the mess of clothes on the floor. “We need to shower.”

Yata sighed and reached out to cup Fushimi’s cheek. “This is why we alternate training nights and sex, dumbass.”

“This was your idea.” He stuck his tongue out childishly before pulling away to pile the clothes all in one spot, using a spare - only slightly used - handkerchief to clean himself off. Yata got off the bed to join him in cleaning up before taking their sex-soiled things and dumping them into the sink to clean another time. 

It was already known around here to leave ‘dirty’ things in the sink so that cleaners wouldn’t touch them.

Yata resisted the urge to clean it right then and there, and instead focused on getting Fushimi under the covers so they could catch some shuteye.

“Tomorrow.” Fushimi mumbled as Yata collected him in his arms.

“What about tomorrow?” Yata asked, pushing Fushmi’s hair out of his eyes.

“Not tomorrow.” Fushimi sighed.

“Tomorrow won’t be our last day. Not the next day, not ever.” Yata replied, fighting back a yawn. “Now sleep.”

Fushimi sighed contentedly. “Yeah.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me, or send some ideas!^^  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/shaelemay)  
> [Tumblr](https://shaelemay.tumblr.com/)


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